sum 








J? UTO BI06i\Af rf^'PoEM^ 
anD 

^Mic War Papers. 



^^ONLYA PRIVATE^* 



"pTPipate^alqell 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



L 



Shelf.:.......... 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




JAMES M. DALZELL. 



PRIVATE DALZELL 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY, POEMS AND COMIC 
WAR PAPERS 



SKETCH OF 



JOHN GRxiY, WASHINGTON'S LAST SOLDIER, Etc 



Part I. MV AUTORIOGRAPHY 
Part II. MY WAR SKETCHES, Etc 
Part III. JOHN GRAY 






A CENTENNIAL SOUVENIR 



CINCINNATI 
ROBEKT CLAllKE & CO 

1888 



COPYKIGHTED BY PRIVATE DaLZELL, 1SS8, 

For the benefit of his wife and ohili.lreii. to-wit: Mrs. Ilettic M. Dalzell, Lena 

May Dalzell, Nellie Dalzell, Annie Dalzell, Howard Hayes Dalzell, 

and Beulah Dalzell, and as a memorial of his departed 

aiul gifted son, James Monroe Dalzell. 



5ro the ^oltrfcrs of tlic Hnfon ^rmg, 

OFFICERS AND MEN, BUT ESrECIAI.LY TO THE PKIVATE SOLDIERS, MY DEAR COM- 
RADES ONE AND ALT,, FOR WHOM AND WITH AVHOM TIIj: FdORESTOF OOD'S 
rOOR, THE NOBLEST AND THE BEST, MY LIFE HAS BEEN SPENT, FAB 
TOWARD THE SHADOW THAT SHALL SOON ENVELOPE IT AND 
THEM, THIS BOOK AND VOLUME OF MY POOR HUMBLE LIFE 
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, TO THEM AND THEIB 
sons' DAUGHTERS AND SONS, AND THEIR 
DAUGHTERS' DAUGHTERS AND SONS, 
FOREVER AND A DAY. 

PRIVATE DALZELL. 

Caldwell, Ohio, April 4, IS&S. 



CONTENTS. 



PART I. 

My Autobiography. 
Prefatory 5 



PART ir. 
My War Sketches, etc. 

1. Dave Sheppard, the Forager 65 

2. Not all Fun in the Army 77 

3. The Stomachs of the Boys in Blue 82 

4. The Forced March to Moorefield, W, Va 80 

5. The First Death in the One Hundred and Sixteenth 

Ohio 91 

6. How the Private and Ben Tilden Enjoyed a Buggy 

Ride 98 

7. A High Private at Rich Mountain 102 

8. Another Story of the Old Flag 107 

9. How the Valorous Private StampededoneArmy and Led 

Another 112 

10. The Capture of Fort Gregg 118 

11. Address of Welcome at Soldiers' National Reunion, 

Sept. 1, 1875 123 

12. How the Private went after but didn't get a Christmas 

Turkey 136 

13. Decoration Day Address in Wheeling, 1883 142 

(3) 



4 CONTENTS. 

14. The Effect of the Old Flag upon Young Piitriots at En- 

listment 151 

15. Extract from Speech at Springfield, Ohio, August '20, 

1879 159 

IG. Extract from Address of Private Dalzell, First Grand 

Army Day, Cincinnati, October 27, ]S(S7 1G2 

17. Private Dalzcll's Soldier Circular 17.S 

18. Poems 182 



PART III. 

John Okay, of Mt. Vernon. 

1. Introduction 192 

2. How I Became Interested in John Gray 196 

3. Early History as Gleaned from Himself 199 

4. John (iray Sfcures a Pension 202 

5. My Last Visit to Jolin Gray 214 

G. Closing Scenes and Remarks 225 



Thk Rkvolutionart Trio 234 



PRIVATE DALZELL. 



PAI^T I. 

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



PEEFATORY. 



I promised the public my autobiography, and here it is. 
The book and volume of my life is too humble a part of 
history to be elaborated in any detail, and I have not the 
vanity or egotism to do so. I was born as others are 
born, and shall die as others have died, and that's about 
all there's of it. The proper time for a man's "auto- 
biography " to be written is when he is safe in heaven. 
The gentle reader will not murmur nor complain, there- 
fore, if I cut it short in righteousness. 

It's all a mistake that I alone put down the rebellion. 
I had the able and valuable assistance of Generals Grant, 
Sherman, Sheridan, and several other gentlemen whose 
names and rank are too tedious to mention, including — 
and, as history has neglected to refer to them in any 
manner whatever, I beg to refer to them in passing — sev- 
eral privates ! 

This fact seems to have fallen into oblivion and sunk 
to the bottom. They all ably and equally rendered me — 

(5) 



6 rRIVATE PALZELL's AUTOBIOOnAPIIY. 

that is, the country — valuable assistance in crushing the 
hydra-head of treason and rebellion. I believe if it had 
not been for their presence with me in the field I might 
possibly have failed and seen the Union divided and the 
flag dishonored. 

This is a concession which no other memoir writer has 
yet ventured to make. But I Avant to close the history 
of the War. I shall close the history of the revolution 
in the Life of John Gray ; and, while I have my hand 
in the closing up business, I would be proud, indeed, 
to close out the whole war business ! It needs closing 
pretty badly just now, I vow 1 It runs riot in all our 
papers and magazines of fiction, together witli no end 
of '• war histories," so-called, and is like to run on, like 
the ancient river, forever and forever. 

I think this book will close the business out, and per- 
form for modern carpet-knighting somewhat of the serv- 
ice"wliich Cervantes' Don Quixote accomplished to bring 
into deserved contempt and ridicule the absurd romances 
of chivalry and knight-errantry of the iNIiddle Ages. 

It is time to beat swords and all warlike weapons into 
plowshares and pruning-hooks, and usher the dawn of 
much-needed rest. If this humble volume shall accom- 
plish this, or the half of it, I vrill hang up my pen and 
write no more " histories ;" but if another dose is needed 
I will administer it until this craze for Avar romancing 
under cover of history of the war is completely cured. 
AVith the pen I have stormed the redoubts of buncombe 
before and won laurels there. 

I am cautioned by judicious friends that this is a rash 
and foolish undertaking — a rush upon the thick bosses 
of the almighty memoir makers. This battle of the 



PRIVATE DALZELL S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 7 

books must some time cease. Why not here, and now, 
and forever? It was no easy thing, 1 assure you, to end 
the war. It took all I could do — sometimes I feared I 
was going to fail ; and, indeed, I should have been dis- 
comfited had it not been for the assistance aforesaid of 
the several generals aforesaid, together with the said 
privates aforesaid ! 

Yet it took but four years to end the war. It's like 
to take a thousand to end its history ! It's so much 
easier to write than to fight battles ! ! 

Of late, especially from the comrades of the Grand 
Army of the Republic and the gentlemen of the daily 
newspaper press, with whom my life for a quarter of a 
century has been largely passed, I have had numerous 
requests for my autograph and photograph, neither of 
which is a thing of beauty. And they have even asked 
me if I really existed at all except in the imagination 
and the ncAVspapers. To all these inquiries I have re- 
plied according to the facts, and whenever I could afford 
it I have uniformly sent my picture to all who sought it. 

This has stimulated me to believe that public curiosity 
is sufficiently awakened to require the present effort. 
And here it is — my life — on paper, where all who run 
may read it, and from which all who do not like it may 
run as fast as they can ; but in the chase of life none 
can run so fast as to outstrip the heart of kindness and 
affection which shall follow all men every-where so long 
as it beats, James M. Dalzell. 

Caldwell, 0., Feb. 14, 188G. 



PRIVATE DALZELL S AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 



I. 

My father, Robert Dalzell, of Huguenot descent, was 
born in County Down, Ireland, May 2, 1802 ; my mother 
in County Tyrone, May 9, 1799. Father left Ireland 
with his widowed mother in 1809, and removed to near 
Greenock, Scotland, where he lived until 1832, when he 
emigrated to Pittsburg, Penn. There he met and mar- 
ried my mother, Anne McCormick, and there, in 1838, 
on the 3d day of September, I was born. I say Pitts- 
burg, but I mean Allegheny City, just across the river 
from the old Smoky City. My father had been a dis- 
tiller in Scotland, and for several years in Pittsburg, 
but, convinced that liquor-making was Avrong, he aban- 
doned it and started a new and untried business to him — 
carpet weaving. I spent my early years in the loom 
shop winding bobbins and cutting carpet rags. Thus I 
began life in rags, as I tim likely soon to end it. 

In 1847 we left Pittsburg and settled on a farm near 
wdiere I now live, in Ohio. In 18G8 my father sold tlie 
farm and removed to Fayette Springs, Pa,, but I re- 
mained here. 

It is a most ungrateful and callous soiil that does 
not turn reverently, and affectionately, and often to par- 
ents and schoolmasters — for one has called the early 
teacher " the father of the mind." 

My father and mother were both cast in the sam.e 
mold. I can not think of one Avithout thinking of the 
other, so like were they in mental trait and habit, so har- 
monious in affection, aspiration, and hope. I never 
lieard a jar between them in opinion or counsel. Both 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 9 

Seceders, afterward inembers of the United Presbyterian 
Church, trained from chihlhood in the severe but logical 
discipline of the Calvinistic ci'eed, their home was quiet, 
serene, and rainbowed over and lit up with a faith that 
no cloud of sorrow or poverty could dim or darken. 
The Westminster Confession of Faith, the Shorter Cat- 
echism, and Dr. Pressly's church paper and a Bible were 
our entire library. 

The simple truths of Holy Scripture, the daily sacri- 
fice at the family altar, reverence for all that is accounted 
holy and good, and aversion to all that is wrong or mean, 
were the atmosphere that I daily breathed from the dawn 
of my life until I crossed its sacred threshold in maturer 
years to pass out into an atmosphere not so full of airs 
from heaven as blasts from hell. I never saw a card or 
a dance, a novel or a fiddle, or heard an oath or a rude 
jest in that house. 

Struggling with poverty, a plain, homely, honest pair, 
they toiled on to old age, turning neither to the right 
nor left, unaffected and unabated in their pious devotion. 
It was all one whether the world outside behaved itself 
well or ill, the smooth current of their simple lives ran 
on without a ripple or a murmur. I was taught not so 
much to talk as to think, and feel, and act. Action was 
the supreme ideal there — not of words, for these my par- 
ents knew but little. Their words were few and well 
chosen. I have sat in the awe of the solemn silence of 
our sitting-room for hours, while father quietly read the 
Bible in one corner of the room, and my mother read 
Rouse's version of the Psalm's in the other, neither ut- 
tering a word, except now and then, at long intervals, 
pausing to slowly and reverently read somiC passage that 



10 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

had thrilled them through and through with its porten- 
tous meaning. 

Neither of them was educated beyond reading and 
writing. Their lives had been spent in hard labor, and 
even now the picture of my mother reeling or sewing 
carpet rags in Allegheny City, forty years ago, rises up 
to my memory like the vision of an angel, as I know she 
is now. 

They taught me my A B C's. I had no brother — 
one sister only. There was no public school. At five 
years of age I was started to school in an abandoned 
store-room, north of the Diamond, in Allegheny City, 
then taught by a lame Englishman, named William Tur- 
ner. He kept a select school for a pittance. It was 
our only school. With him I slowly learned to wa-ite 
and figure a little — for my parents had long before 
that taught me to read. I have no recollection of learn- 
ing to spell and read, except by that sort of recollection 
spoken of by Goethe — such a mixture of memory with 
what my parents told me after, that I can not discrim- 
inate recollection from tradition. Mr. Turner offered a 
prize for the boy in our spelling class who should be 
head the most times during the term. I won it. I re- 
member with what pride I bounded into the loom shop — 
father on the loom, mother at the spinning-wheel, both 
pausing in their labor to look up and smile, the greater 
prize after all, as I almost screamed with delight, " I've 
got it!" It was a beautiful white card with my name 
inscribed on it in copper-plate, as we called it then, and 
this card fastened to a blue ribbon and suspended from 
my neck. 

No champion ever returned crowned from the Olym- 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 11 

pian games with greater pride, and no one ever received 
more generous and heartfelt apphxuse than I did there 
in that dingy old loom sljop. It was the turning point 
of my life. I had to maintain the reputation of being 
the best speller in the school, and I did ; and from that 
day to this I have never allowed myself to misspell a 
word. 

One day — it was in 1845, on the 10th day of April — 
as I was returning home from school, the fire-bells sud- 
denly began to ring, the engines were drawn out Avith 
ropes, and the whole town was in a state of alarm, as if 
it were the last day, and judgment coming on all. Pitts- 
buro- was on fire. I could see the smoke risino; in dark 
volumes, hear the flames hiss and roar, and smell the 
fumes of the conflagration just across the river. I was 
terrified and ran home. My father was out with the old 
Washington engine all that day and night. It made an 
awful impression on my childish fancy and memory. 

But, as distinctly as I remember the great fire, quite as 
vividly, but with pleasure, instead of pain, do I remem- 
ber seeing General William Henry Harrison, in 1841, 
when I was scarcely three years old. He was on his 
way to Washington. It happened that, in passing over 
to Pittsburg to the carriage in which he rode, he stopped 
in front of our door. It was an open carriage drawn by 
four white horses with plumes. There sat the white- 
haired old hero, whom my father worshiped, for he was a* 
whig; and my father proudly held the boy up in his 
arms and gave him this his first lesson in hero worship. 
Not a railroad, not a lamp, not a telegraph, not a school- 
house in Allegheny City then. When I was about seven 
years old, along came the talk of the telegraph. I was 



12 PRIVATE DALZELI/S AUTOBIOORAPIIY. 

in the loom shop. Akiermun Hayes, vvho often called in 
to chat with father, was descanting on the telegraph. 
He announced that it would soon be along in Pittsburg. 
'' Why," said he, " they can send news along a string 
up on poles from Philadelphia here in less than no 
time." " Less than no time," thought I ; " that is pretty 
quick." I have thought about it, and how they could 
work such miracles with a string on poles, and I have 
thought a good deal a1)out it since, and understand it 
now about as well as I did then, and so do you, if you 
will confess it ! 

One day — it was the 1st day of April, 1844 — our school 
was dismissed, every factory and mill closed, and the old 
schoolmaster took us little fellows dov/n to the Mechanic 
street bridge, on the Allegheny side of the river, to see 
a miracle. All Pittsburg and. Allegheny were there on 
either bank of the Allegheny river. I had never seen 
so many people. It liad been announced that a man 
Avould liy iVom tlie Mechanic street bridge to, and under, 
and over the Federal street bridge and back at 1 o'clock. 
It was in iill the papers. We all thought then that 
the newspapers could not lie, and some of the people 
Avho Avcrc not present that day may still think so, but it 
disenchanted mc. I believe they can lie now, though 
they seldom do. 

Promptly at one o'clock, a man dressed in tigiits, but 
Avith a _«'rcat cloak over his shoulders like wings, sud- 
denly appeared on the bridge. A hu.sh fell on the 
miolity concourse of people. In my childish credulity, 
I thoun-ht the hour and the man had come. You could 
have heard a pin drop. The simple-minded old Irish 
and Scotch, of which the Pittsburg of that day was 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOLIOGRAPIIY. 13 

composed, and their still more simple children, would 
have believed any thing. Yes, any thing that Mun- 
chausen could have told them. They all — ten or twenty 
thousand men and women and children — with ef[ual faith 
expected now to see the apparition on the bridge spread 
its Avings and fly ; and it did — but it era-s' a goose ! 

Pittsburg had the latent element in it which, three de- 
cades of years after, made its railway riots possible — a 
curious community of people as you can find anywhere, 
with all that is good wrapped up by strange contradic- 
tions with all that is evil, in the whimsical human nature 
that fills those twin cities — and a roar of rage like the 
shout of an army went up along those crowded banks, as 
a rush was made to kill the man who had duped two great 
old babies of cities, as they really then were. But the 
mountebank escaped, and the audience dispersed, some 
cursing and threatening vengeance, but the greater part 
laughing at the way they had been sold. 

Imagine the effect en ray childish thou2;hts of the an- 
nounceraent of the war with Mexico. The young men 
around us Avere enlisting. I could hear the fife and drum 
day and night, and could see the recruiting ofiice just 
across the street. It Avas my first glimpse of A\'ar, and, 
like the serpent that it is, charmed me even Avliile it ter- 
rified me. What is there in human nature that makes 
AA'hat is so repulsive and abhorrent as Avar, attractive to 
the childish fancy? It must be the dregs of that old 
barbarism and brutality come doAvn to us from that 
brother Avho slew his own brother in cold blood, in the 
beo-innincj of time. 

It is more than an intimation that the instinct of strife 
and bloodshed is man's most natural, indeed his predom- 



14 PRIVATE DALZELL'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

inating instinct. I i^;nv the Irish (xrecns embark with 
Colonel Sam Blach, who, nearly tAventy years afterward, 
fell on one of the fields of the great civil war. I heard 
the children screaming, and saw the wives and mothers 
clincrins: to their husbands and sons, as they went on 
board of the steamer that was so soon to take them away 
forever. It Avas a sad sight — to a child, terrible. 

Soon, however, ray father bought a farm in Ohio, and 
in 1847 we bade adieu to old Pittsburg, got aboard the 
Mingo Chief, and floated off' down the Ohio with all our 
wordly possessions. It took us ten days then, to reach 
our destination in Ohio. It takes less than ten hours 
noAv; I shall never forget that steamboat ride down the 
Ohio, and up the Muskingum to McConnelsville, Ohio, 
before the days of railroads and telegraphs — in the old, 
old da^^s. Times were sloAver ; men were slower ; the 
very planets seemed to move slow^er than they do now, 
for did the days not seem longer ? Travel was the slow- 
est of all. Disembarking at the sleepy little country 
town of McConnelsville, my father found a couple of 
old road wagons, which started next morning over the 
hills to our new home, a log cabin in the Avoods. I re- 
member that long April day's toiling through the mud. 
It was in 1847, and I Avas but eight years old — my edu- 
cation finished ! 

I saAV the first log cabin that day I had ever seen, and 
no other human habitation did I see, except log cabins 
at long distances apart, in all that trip of tAventy miles. 

It Avas night Avhen Ave reached our destination. We 
were soon installed in our ncAv home — the log hut — a 
blazing fire on the hearth, and roaring up the stick chim- 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 

ney, which was almost the biggest, certainly the most 
conspicuous part of the chvelling. 

It was a new life to me. The men, strong, robust, 
cheery and communicative; the Avomen, even more so, 
plain of speech, frank of manners, and all anxious to 
help the new comers all they could. The men crowded 
in to chop our wood, and show father how to perform 
farm work, of which he had no knowledge or experience. 
The women came to show mother how to pick avooI, pull 
and spin flax, cut and dry apples and peaches, and make 
soft soap. It was a new world to us all, that life in the 
cabin. The transition from the cozy brick house in the 
city to the log house in the deadening, surrounded by 
the primeval forest. Think of it ! But we soon " got 
de hang of de barn,'' and the years rolled on with us 
much as they did with our neighbors. Still I look back 
to those days, and sigh when I think of the honest, true 
hearts, and the willing hands, that surrounded and helped 
us until we learned the ways of the farm. That genera- 
tion is long since in the grave, and is one of which this 
might well be proud. Inviting as the theme is, I 
must not pause to moralize. The reader can do that at 
his leisure ; and contrasting the generous men and 
women of that day with the selfish ones of this, is a 
gloomy task v/hich I freely delegate to any one who can 
endure it patiently, for I can not. 

There were frolics of all sorts, quilting parties, husk- 
ings, dances, wood choppings, raisings, merrymakings 
of all sorts, in which the whole country-side joined; 
plenty of vrhisky in every house, and out on all such oc- 
casions; no drunkenness among the men, no scandals 
aniong the women, nothing to bring the blush of shame 



16 PRIVATE BALZELl's AUTOBIOnriAPHY. 

to any cheek. Locks and keys ^Yere unknown. Prom- 
issory notes were seldom required for any loan or other 
debt. For years and years I knew of but one or two 
arrests, and not half a dozen civil suits in all my child- 
hood there. Men and women stood upon their lionor, 
and it was a Rock of Gibraltar that rec^uired the sanc- 
tion of no lav/ to strengthen it. There was no caste. 
All were of one class. All were on visitinci; terms. No 
one ever went to the poor house from our settlement — 
not one, none to the penitentiary, none to jail, not one 
to the lunatic asylum. Money was out of the question. 
Exchanges Avere carried on mainly by barter. We 
traded our v/heat and live stock mainly for sugar, coffee, 
whisky, and other necessaries. Nobody would help you 
raise a house, or clear a field, or roll logs, until you set 
out a gallon or two of Avhisky. I remember, once at a 
neighbor's I saw two big strong fellows walk into the 
harvest field with their scythes on their shoulders. The 
farmer told them he had no whisky. " Then," said they 
quietly, and as a matter of course, " we will cut no 
grass," and off they went. Had he told them he had no 
money, they would have laughed and cut his grass all 
the sam.c, provided that he had whisky. The mercenary 
spirit had not yet appeared. 

Tliere Avere no misers, no usurers, consequently no con- 
tention or litigation, no pride and no envy, no idleness, 
drunkenness, or vagrancy. I have seen six months pass 
by in my father's house and not a cent of money in it, 
and he was about as well off as his neisrhbors. Even 

O 

those who owned no land of their own were held to be 
on an equal footing with the best of the land-holders. 
You could see no dillcrence between tlio bovs and ffirls. 



PRIVATE DALZELl's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 17 

the young men and women, of the landlord and the frcc- 
liolder. They romped together, worked in the fiehl to- 
gether, sat on the same bench in tlie church and at the 
log school-house, courted each other, intermarried, and 
in all things were on an equality. I grew up as other 
farmer boys did — and I need not repeat the old story, 
now so familiar to all. 

In 1855, my good mother had got together §100, and 
sent me off to Pittsburg, where I entered Duff's College. 
There I learned somewhat of bookkeeping and penman- 
ship. In the spring I went to Ohio University, at 
Athens, walking all the way, and carrying all my effects 
in a handkerchief. I worked for my boarding. At that 
time the gorgeous young men of the South were there 
in large numbers, affluent, proud, and generous. I confess 
I then acquired a prejudice in favor of these noble youth 
that even three years in war with them never shook off. 
Poor as I was, almost ragged, working night and morn- 
ing for my boarding, I remember with gratitude their 
kindness and generosity to me. 

The next year I taught my first school and earned the 
first money near Allentown, A^inton county, Ohio. It 
was the year of the Banks' contest for the Speakership 
and of the election of Buchanan. It was to me a long 
winter — so anxious Avas I to earn the money to go back 
to college. I got $65 for seventy-two days' teach- 
ing, and started home thrilled with joy and hope. I was 
in my eighteenth year. What joy realized in manhood 
can be compared with the dreams of youth indulged in 
such ecstatic moments ! I had never in my life owned 
an overcoat, overshoes, or underclothing of any kind. I 



18 niiVATE dalzell's autobiography, 

had no habit that cost me one cent. To-day I looked at 
my diary kept that winter, and it Avas a terrible winter, 
as you will remember, the winter of 1855-6, when the 
snoAV fell at Christmas and lay at great depth till April. 
I Avalkcd a mile, built my own fires, and never thought 
of an overcoat or a glove. My entire expenses for the 
Avintcr Avere seventy-one cents. I Avas not different from 
the other young men of that day, Avho, like me, Avere 
pushing their OAvn fortunes ; but Avhat would the young 
men of to-day think of seventy-one cents alloAvance in 
money for the entire Avinter? I thought more of Latin, 
Greek, and matlicmatics that Avinter than of money, and 
I do yet. 

There Avas a slight thaAV as I started home on the 
first of March. It rained a little, and the ice began to 
break in Sunday Creek. It Avas SAVollen and dangerous 
looking, but it lay between me and my mother and col- 
lege, and I could not brook delay. I got off the horse that 
had been sent me to ride home (nearly 100 miles), started 
him into the stream, swollen like a river, and full of 
broken ice. By dint of hallooing and pelting him Avith 
pieces of ice, I managed to get the poor brute over. I 
then ran up the creek to see if I could find a place 
Avhere the ice was whole that I might cross myself. At 
length I found one Avhere the ice seemed unbroken to 
the other shore. With the impetuosity of youtli, not 
minding the adage, " Look before you leap," I sprang 
doAvn the bank onto tlie ice, and through it, and almost 
under it. I got a thorough wetting in that chilly air, 
but scrambled out, still on the same side. Approaching 
it a little more caunily, I found a better place, got safely 
over, got my horse, and rode home, Avet and shivering 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUT0BI0<!RAPIIY. 1!^> 

Avitli cold, for I had not a cliano;e of clotliiiiii; m tlio 
world. Nor did I take cold Lj it. 

In a few weeks I was back at the Ohio University, 
which I was soon forced to leave on account of fever and 
ague contracted there. I returned home sick and dis- 
couraged ; spent a miserable summer, .alternately burn- 
ing and freezing, until at length in August youth and 
strength prevailed and threw off the disease, and I was 
myself again, but my money was all gone but ten dollars. 
The doctors had got the rest for doing what nature had 
kindly stepped in and was doing for nothing, as usual. 
Since that I have found that if the vigor of the constitu- 
tion, pleasant and healthful surroundings, and a conformity 
to the simplest rules of living do not cure you, you need 
not call the doctor. Gall the undertaker when this fails, 
but not the doctor ! 

For some years then I taught school of winters, worked 
with father on the farm in the spring, and attended col- 
lege at Sharon, Ohio. It was a quiet, unpretentious 
school, but some of the best men and women I ever shall 
know here or hereafter were my classmates. The college 
seat was an inland village, forty miles from any railway, 
but to me as pleasant and beautiful in memory as Au- 
burn was to the poet, Goldsmith. I remember the fiiculty : 
Hev. Randall Ross, president, and Rev. W. W. McMillan 
0U7' only professor. Since leaving that little country col- 
lege it has been my privilege to attend Washington Col- 
lege, Pennsylvania, and Colum.bia College at AVashington 
City, four long years, and there enjoy the ample means 
of education afforded by those two colleges, yet I never 
in rav life met the professor in any college who holds the 
place in my estimation which my heart and judgment ac- 



20 PRIVATE dalzell's autobiugkapuy. 

cord iiov/ while my eyes are flowing with tears of grati- 
tude to Randall Ross and William McMillan. In my af- 
fections they are without a rival among all my school- 
masters. With the modesty always linked with great per- 
sons, vast erudition and profound piety, if our school- 
masters, Ross and McMillan, did not make a deep and 
lasting improvement in all the young men intrusted to 
their care, no man ever could. 

On the breaking out of the war, the president entered 
the army as a private soldier, the other students mostly 
following his example, and the professor removed to a 
Avestern farm, and that was the end of Sharon College. 

In 1861, I entered Washington College as a Freshman 
half advanced, and continued there till August, 1862, 
when I enlisted as a private soldier in defense of the 
American Union in Company H, One Hundred and Six- 
teenth Ohio Infantry. I had just entered the Junior 
year, after a hard struggle of fitful and irregular at- 
tendance at college from 1856 down to 1862. If my father 
had had the means to pay my way, I should have grad- 
uated long before the Avar, but I had to manage that my- 
self the best I could. Many a time, returning home from 
the school or the plow, as the case might be, Avith my 
air-castles all seemingly crushed by the rude hand of 
circumstances, I Avould have given up in despair but 
for the gentle voice of my mother, her SAveet, sad 
smile irradiating the darkest passages of my life, and 
kindling a hope in the gloom of the future. She had 
carried me, her oidy son, in her arms into Dr. Press- 
ly's church, at Allegheny City, and at the baptismal 
font dedicated my life to God. She desired me to be a 
preaclior in the Presbyterian Church, to which I had be- 



PRIVATE DALZELL'S AUTOlilOGKAPilY. 21 

loiiged since I Avas eighteen years of age. But for tlie 
war I certainly would have been some sort of a preacher, 
if for nothing else than to gratify her in -whom my life 
Avas bound up. She followed me on Avith her deep and 
matchless love, until she had nearly reached her eightieth 
year, and had dandled my little ones lovingly on her 
knees, A\dicn her spirit took its flight, peacefully and still, 
to the AYorld that her faith had loncj beheld shinino; in 
glory behind the stars. Her form rests under the shad- 
ows of the Alleghenies — a sacred spot to me. If I had 
no other incentive to a pure and blameless life, and a 
faith that knows no hesitancy or fear, it would be that when 
life's fitful fever is over I may meet her with my son, 
James Monroe, over the river under the shadow of the 
tree of life. 

II. 

Transferred in a day from the peaceful shades of class- 
ical learning to the camp of war, from the companionship 
of innocent, aspiring, hopeful young spirits, to that of 
soldiers, restless and noisy, eager to march to the front, 
and try the fate of battle, I found myself passing my 
first night in camp at Marietta, 0., August 22, 18G2. It 
Avas Sunday night. The profane oath, the obscene jest, 
the questionable story, rang round the camp, and all Avas 
so unusual that, stretched on the hard boards of my 
quarters, I could not sleep. As I looked out into tlie 
night, and up at the stars, and in fancy still on toAvard 
the future, then vailed no less for my country than for 
me in gloom, a sadness came over me that I could not 
tlien understand, and noAV have not the poAver to describe. 
And Avas this the end of all that struggle to obtain an 



22 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOORAPIl Y. 

otlucatiou wliicli a hard destiuj had seemed to have (hv 
nicd nie ? What Avas to he my fate, and Avliat -was to be 
my future ? And these noble young men around me, 
what was to become of them ? Ah, was it not kind in 
God to leave the ans\Aers to be unfolded in his oAvn good 
time ? If, as the thunder follows the electric flash, re- 
sponse had come in a moment then to all my question- 
ings of the future, and I could have foreseen the fate of 
us all, the young, brave, and patriotic spirits about me 
that night, flesh and heart must have fainted and failed, 
and reason itself deserted its throne forever. " God is 
his own interpreter," and man must wait until his plans 
are unfolded. 

I was destined to live to see one after another, class- 
mate, room-mate, friend, neighbor, old acquaintances 
and new, descend into the dark valley of death one after 
another — some on the red fields of war, and some in the 
loathsome hospital, some in camp, some by the roadside 
— but to me that night no voice spoke out of the future 
to reveal it. 

Whether fortunately or unfortunately to me, I can not 
yet determine, two things seemed to be in my favor from 
the outset of ray military life. First, I was conceded to 
be the best penman and accountant in our company. 
Second, when I was a schoolmaster, my present captain — 
as gallant a soldier as ever drew a sword — W. B. Teters, 
now at Boulder, Colorado, had been a student in my 
school years before, and Ave were intimate friends. As 
I was not as robust and strong as most of tlio other 
fixrmer lads in the company, Teters kept me at his quar- 
ters to do his writing, keep his accounts, and make out 



PRIVATE DALZELL'S AUTOBIOGllAPIIY. 23 

his reports, until the following May, when I was pro- 
moted to sergeant-major. 

I have no disposition or desire to repeat what has so 
often been better written than I can write it. I shall 
pass by the winter of 18G2-3, when we entered West 
Virginia, marched to Clarksburg, across to Buchanan, 
Beverly, the Cheat Mountain region, returned to the 
Baltimore road, and joining Mulligan at New Creek, 
made* a forced march to Moorefield, and received our 
first baptism of battle. It was a complete victory. 
From there we went to Romney, and in the spring to 
Winchester. About two months after that, we had a three 
days' fight with Ewell's forces, and were completely routed 
and defeated, and forced to find safety — all of us Avho 
could — in the mountains. We brought up, after a long 
chase and a hard march, Avithout provisions for three 
days, at Hancock, and went from there to Bloody Run. 
Though at hand and in sight of the field, we never fired 
a gun at Gettysburg, the Waterloo of the war,^ 

That winter Ave spent in Avinter quarters near Antie- 
tam. Next spring Ave took the field Avith Siegel, and 
Avere badly drubbed at Ncav Market, and forced to re- 
treat to Cedar Creek. Hunter next took command, and 
the long retreat from Lynchburg folloAved. Then came 
Sheridan, and no more retreats. 

I had been disabled, and Avas no longer fit for field 
duty, Avhen Colonel Washburn, my gallant commander — 
Avho was ever a father to me — Avas shot through the head 
in the fall of 1864, and recovering as if by a miracle, or- 
dered me to Wheeling with him, where he assumed com- 
mand of that important post. He and I remained there 

until the war Avas over. 
3 



24 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

I had seen over two years of hard service at the front, 
v/itli Avhich I could fill a book, but the last year of my 
enlistment I Avas destined to serve in tlie inglorious ca- 
pacity of a military clerk, until May 2(), 1865, when I 
was discharged, and once more a citizen. 

Where was Bier, the head man at my college in 1802? 
Where McCoUum, who always sat beside me in the class- 
room ? Where Mcintosh, with whom I used to spend 
the long winter evenings at home when we taught ad- 
joining schools? AVherc a hundred other far better men 
than you or I? For the best men of the North and 
South, remember, died in that war, almost to a man. 
Where? Died on the field of l)attle, starved in the 
prison pens of the South, dying at home or in hospitals 
of disease. Alas! All, all gone. Not one of my old 
chums survived, not one. Others of my comrades, less 
dear to me, good men and true as they are, remain, but 
who shall ever fill the vacant c'lairs of tliose bi'illiant and 
promising young men who went with me to the war ? 

III. 

In the war I had met most of the men Avho were des- 
tined to be the central figures of the future in this coun- 
try — all ofiicers, no privates. Then, as well as now, I 
knew that the American peoi)le despise private soldiers. 
They have never elevated one to any office and never 
Avill. Tlie fact tliat a man was a private soldier is taken 
and held as final and conclusive evidence that he is a 
worthless, good-for-nothing. The most and best he can 
do is to keep it from being known — as if he were an es- 
caped convict. The reasoning is this : a private soldier 



PRIVATE DALZELL 8 AUTOBIOGRAPUY. 2o 

is a v>'orthless man, a coarse, brutal, vicious man ; you 
were a private soldier ; ergo, you arc coarse, brutal, and 
vicious. The logic is bad, I grant you, but it is univer- 
sally accepted as good. I saw this before I was in the 
army a month. I have never had any reason to change 
my opinion and never "will. If I had a score of sons, I 
should warn them against entering the ranks of the 
array as private soldiers. Thanks, they get none ; pay, 
little ; bounty and pension, grudgingly, and as if thrown 
to beggars ; and the people who stayed at home and 
made money out of their blood despise them and their 
children's children to the third and fourth generations. 
As well kick against fate. It is destiny. It can not be 
helped. There is but one escape from the odium of 
being a private, and that is death, with the certain pros- 
pect that the grave itself Avill be desecrated with sneers. 
This discrimination invades every walk of life. Nothing 
can shield the private soldier from this storm of con- 
tumely and scorn. Is he a lawyer? It Avill keep away 
clients. Is he a doctor ? It Avill keep away patients. 
Is he a preacher? It will divide his flock and empty his 
pews. Is he a mechanic or laborer ? He can never i-ise 
above it, and Avill be kept in poverty and held in con- 
tempt all his days. So, of all other professions and call- 
ings in which he may engage — Nem.esis follows him still. 
He can not escape it. Ask an}' private soldier Avhat his 
experience has been for the past twenty-five years, and 
he will corroborate every statement I make, and illus- 
trate it by a hundred doleful examples. 

Out of this sprang the nom de plume. Private Dalzell. 
Seeing no escape from the reproach that must pursue me 



26 PRIVATE BALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

for being a private, and not depraved enough to try to lie 
out of it, I boldly took the bull by the horns, announced 
the odious rank to the world, and asked them then and ask 
tlicin now, Avliat are you going to do about it ? To be 
sure, too many of our poor fellows, by their profanity, 
drunkenness, and other vices, gross and notorious, give 
some excuse to the people for lumping us all together as 
a bad set, yet I must say that as good men, as good 
fathers, brothers, husbands, neighbors, and Christian 
gentlemen as walk this earth were only privates. 

It ought not to be so, but it is so ; and fool indeed is 
that private soldier who for one moment believes any 
professions or promises to the contrary made by any 
clique or class of politicians, in any party, church, or 
society in the United States. 

The die is cast. The evening draws nigh. Death is 
at hand. By patience in well-doing, by faith in Jesus 
Christ, you and I may earn the approval of Heaven and 
admission to its portals; but, wherever it is known you 
wore a private, expect the confidence and esteem of 
men, the entree of good society — never. 

IV. 

It Avas reflections like these with which the last dole- 
ful chapter closed that caused me to assume the nom de 
plume of Trivate Dalzell, a quarter of a century ago, and 
endure it ever since. It was the leap of Horatius into 
the gulf; the acceptance of the inevitable; my bow to 
destiny. But I should not advise any one else to do so, 
for I always envied the good fortune of Private Miles 
O'Reilly, who died soon after assuming it. 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 27 

The war -was over. What was I to do now to earn a 
living, was the question that troubled me most. The 
great question of the reconstruction of the dismembered 
Union was undergoing public discussion, but the recon- 
struction of my finances and the shaping of my future 
was a question that pressed more closely upon me, and 
demanded immediate solution. Like half a million other 
young men, the war had torn me up, turned me inside 
out, and left me penniless, with broken health, gloomy 
forebodings, and without occupation. I sat down by my 
mother, and we talked it all over. Her faith in her son 
and his future had been undimmed by all the clouds 
of war, and she encouraged me to start out and begin 
again. I had three half dollars in silver — all the money 
I had on the earth; half a dollar a year for my mili- 
tary service to the Great Republic — and these I punched 
and sti'ung together with a wire. They are here in ray 
desk now. I often show them to my children as an ob- 
ject lesson in patriotism and a warning to keep out of 
the ranks of an army. I had taught school. I had 
written for the papers before the war and during the 
war. I have seen my war letters bound up in Frank 
Moore's Rebellion Record, copied from the Philadelphia 
Press, of June, 1863, and written while en route for 
Gettysburg. I thought this all over, but, as I had never 
received one cent of pay for my irregular and spasmodic 
contributions to the press, I saw no encouragement there. 
As Coleridge said of poetry, so I said of newspaper 
writing, from 1856, when I commenced, down to 1865, 
it had been to me " its own exceedinii; great reward " 
— nothing more. 

In an old sugar-tree camp, on ray father's farm, on 



28 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

February, 185G, I had sat down on a log and read aloud 
to my father, by the blazing fire and the boiling kettles 
of syrup, my first published contribution to the news- 
paper press, printed in a local paper here in Noble 
county, Ohio. From that time on my leisure moments 
had been employed on this most unremunerative toil. 
Poetry, sketches, letters, and tidbits of all sorts were 
continually appearing over my name in all the leading 
daily papers of the United States, for which in ten years 
I had not asked or received one cent. But that would 
not do. I must find some sort of work that I could get 
an honest dollar out of to meet my crying needs. So I 
taught a country school that winter, at $80 a month, 
and in the spring had §120 of clear money, for my fa- 
ther boarded me, and necessity had taught enforced 
economy. 

My old major was elected county clerk in ISIkj, and 
entered upon his new office in the spring of 18GG, mak- 
ing me his deputy at -^2 a day, a princely income to me, 
and I took up my abode with him in Caldwell, Ohio, 
where I now reside. 

I remained with hiui until the August following, Avhen 
my friend, lion. John A. Bingham, our representative in 
Congress, procured my appointment to a clerkship in the 
Customs Burciiu, Treasury, Washington City. 

My fatlier then lived on the old farm. On receiving 
my designation to the clerkship I saw the avenue of es- 
cape from the drudgery of tlie life I was leading in the 
little villngc, and the future seemed once more lit 
up with tlie radiance and beauty wliich I had long 
supposed to be eclipsed forever. I mounted my major's 
horse, the same that he had rode at Cedar Creek and at 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 29 

Lee's surrender, and, in such heroic companionship, in 
the cool of the morning, dashed off up the road and over 
the liills to bid ray father and mother good-l)v. They lived 
eight miles from Caldwell. I had to pass through the 
little village of Sharon. There resided two noble 
girls Avhom I had known before the war, the Misses 
Aikin ; and, turning my horse off the road, up a laue to 
the house where they lived, I was at the door in a min- 
ute. They met me like sisters, sang the songs of the" 
war to me, chatted pleasantly, and, Vv'ishing me God- 
speed, I remounted my horse, rode down the lane, out 
into the main road, and off for home once more. It was 
a pleasant incident of my life, and one that rests in 
my memory like a lovely picture yet. And there is rea- 
son for it. Just before I reached the main road, I had 
to cross a bright stream of crystal water that ran across 
it. As I did so, I heard the steady tramp of a horse's 
hoofs on the road just ahead of me, and, turning my 
eyes in that direction, saw the closely vailed figure of 
a young girl on the horse. As my horse stopped to 
drink, the apparition passed the end of the lane, and on 
west, tlie road I had to travel. Som.etliing of the impu- 
dence and curiosity that I had picked up in the war 
made me resolve to see who the strange young lady 
was, and, if possible, make her acquaintance and flirt 
with her a little to pass away the time. I reined up my 
old hero, touched him slightly with the spur, and he 
soon carried me out into the highway, west along the 
road, up to, and past the lady on horseback. As I 
passed in a gallop I lifted my hat and said, " Good 
morning." No reply came. My effrontery had over- 
shot the mark — met its just rebuke. 



30 PRIVATE ]JALZELL\s AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

She was so closely vailed I could not see her face, 
but there was such a mystery surrounding her that my 
determination was renewed, at all hazards, to form or 
force her acquaintance. And tliis is how I succeeded, 
and it may serve as a hint to all bashful young men 
in the future who may be like situated. Two or three 
hundred yards further on a little creek crossed the road. 
There I stopped just a few rods in advance of the mys- 
terious equestrienne. My horse was restive, and the old 
fellow didn't like the foolishness of standing there in the 
water when his thirst had been so lately fully quenched at 
the other stream. He seemed to divine my stratagem, and 
in his playfulness tried to defeat it. But I held him to it 
until the lady rode up beside me, and her horse eagerly 
stopped to di'ink. The situation was awkward. Coun- 
try-girl, as she must be, she could not but see the game 
I was playing, for if I had succeeded in concealing it 
myself the major's horse was cavorting the secret ou' 
in his tramping and splashing and eagerness to get away. 
Not a moment vv'as to be lost. " How far are you going 
this way ?" I ventured to ask, trying in vain to peer 
through the thick vail which hid her features from me. 
" Eighteen miles," she quietly answered, in a voice of 
such low, sweet melody as I had never heard before. " I 
am going six miles in the same direction," I replied, 
and, without giving her a chance to repulse me, impu- 
dently rode beside her as her horse raised his head and 
rode up out of the water. I was fascinated by the 
voice, and I had at least seen her hand and her form, 
both of the most exquisite beauty. 

The tone of that voice had captivated mc, and thrown 
me out of my senses. If I had had the world at that 



PRIVATE DALZELL'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 31 

moment I Avould have freely thrown it away to see that 
face. I had set out to flirt with her in a kind of 
boyish, devilish way, but that voice had knocked all such 
nonsense out of me. I was dazed, bevvildered, thrilled 
throuu-h and throu2;h with an emotion I had never felt be- 
fore. I was madly in love with the strange, quiet little 
horsewoman, whom I had never seen, and whom I was 
destined to chat with for an hour that day as we rode 
along, and whose face I was not to see for a year to 
come. But all things come to an end, and so did that 
morning's ride. 

When I bade her good-by at my mother's door, and 
she rode away through the green woods Avest, I had no 
knowledge of her name or residence, and had not ob- 
tained any clue to cither, though by every device of 
which I was possessed I had endeavored to discover it. 
Every question was so delicately parried as to increase 
my curiosity and deepen the mystery into which she had 
taken refuge. She rode away from me, and had left me 
nothing but the music of her voice. 

By a chance I met a good v/oman, near my father's 
house, wdio told me that the 3"0ung lady had been visit- 
ing a sister near Sharon, and that she lived near Des 
Moines, in the State of Iowa. She was probably cross- 
ing the country to see another sister who resided at 
Rix's Mills, Ohio. Her name was Hettie M. Kelley. 

I felt the hopelessness of ever seeing her again, and 
tried to banish her from my thoughts, but, do what I 
might, her form floated before me and. the music of her 
voice thrilled me still. I had ventured into the camp of 
the enemy and was made captive myself without an ef- 
fort on her part. 



32 piiiVATE dalzell's autobiography. 

But time was pressing. I must leave for the city of 
Magnificent Distances next morning, and there "was no 
time to indulge day-dreams of love. I put it aside as 
a strange, inexplicable episode of my life, bade father, 
mother, and sister good-by, returned to Caldwell, and 
next morning left for Washington City with barely 
enough money to take me there. Arriving there, I stop- 
ped at the Washington House, where Ben Wade, Judge 
Bingham, Henry Wilson, and other celebrities were then 
boarding. 

It was a new world to me. I had met all the men of 
the war who have now or had then any name in history, 
and formed an intimate acquaintance with General Sher- 
man, General Logan, General Leggctt, General Banks, 
and others almost equally distinguished, but of the poli- 
ticians or statesmen I knew^ as little as they did of me — 
nothing. 

It was a new life to me now to live in their presence. 
I was dazzled with the splendors of the public buildings, 
parks, statues, and all the profuse and bewildering beau- 
ties of art at the Capitol. But, charming as these were 
I realized what Emerson said, that what delighted me 
most was the men — Sumner, Stevens, Wade, Chandler, 
Bingham, Colfax, Wilson, Chase, Stanton, Raymond, and 
all the celebrated statesmen of the century ; the greatest 
men that time ever brought on the stage of action. 

Andy Johnson w^as -President. He had not swung the 
circle yet. All the capital was then engaged in the Avor- 
ship of military achievement. Grant moved about like 
a god, worshiped by all. When Custer rode down the 
avenue every one ran to the door to see him pass. States- 
men vied with each other to sec who could do the most 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 33 

or say the most for the soklier. But I was not there a 
day until I saw that all this worship was meant for the 
generals, and by no means for the privates. I happened 
to look like General Custer. Arriving late in the even- 
ing, an entire stranger, I noticed all the idlers about the 
hotel office staring at me. As I did not register, one or 
two belated musicians came in pretty well befuddled, 
with their big brass instruments under their arras. "They 
stared at me a moment, then stepped aside and spoke to- 
gether in a drunken whisper, which is not far removed 
from a sober conversational tone of ordinary pitch. 
" S'r nade 'im ; s'r nade 'im, hie, at's it !" I heard one 
of them mumble, and the other fellow nodded assent pro- 
fusely, and they started off down stairs. 

The gentlemanly clerk, who had noticed the affair, 
Avith a smile, stepped up to me, and, with the politest 
bow in the world, handed me a pen, and asked me to 
register. He knew Custer well enough, of course. I 
wrote my name. 

" See here," he said, with a smile that only a hotel 
clerk Avith a bold heart need ever try to copy, " those 
fellows think you are General Custer, and are going to 
serenade you." 

I laughed outright ; and if I had not been three years 
in the army, it would have gone hard with me, but that 
I had added a blush. Just then toot, toot went the 
horns below, on the pavement, and the confused noise 
of a dozen of oxfollicated youngsters, all talking at once. 
Toot, toot, preparing to play, the hotel clerk, alarmed 
at what might happen, rushed from me, down the steps, 
and while I stood back in the shadow of the stairway, I 
heard the following not very flattering colloquy : 



34 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Clerk, — " What the — — are you fellows at, any 
how ? " 

One of the hand. — " Hie ! goin' to blow up ole, hie ! 
Custer— 's all right." 

Clerk. — Custer, the . That fellow is not 

Custer. It is only Private Dalzell.'' 

I heard a few oaths muttered out in a maudlin fashion, 
and the rattling of instruments and drums, as they stag- 
gered together and off down the avenue. 

The clerk came back wreathed in the smiles out of 
which, to say nothing of his big ring and false diamond 
breastpin, he made his salary, and with the ready wit 
and complete absence of a conscience characteristic of 
his class, explained that the band was about to serenade 
Colfax, but he had explained to them that he was not in, 
and they had gone off. I seemed not to notice the lie, 
and went to bed, thinking of the difference between my 
rank and Custer's. Custer was a glorious fellow, and I 
had seen his yellow locks flying on the field of battle 
more than once, and now was not displeased to have 
been mistaken for him. 

Nevertheless, I had not failed to observe the discrim- 
ination of rank in Wasliington in this my initial lesson 
in that wonderful heterogeneous society — a lesson that 
was afterward repeated to me in a thousand ways. I 
passed the examination and was installed as clerk in 
the Treasury Department. My chief was Nathan Sar- 
gent, known to our grandfathers by his newspaper nom 
de plume of Oliver Oldschool. He was thin and cadav- 
erous, mettlesome and nervy, a typical officeholder, in- 
deed. Always in office till he died, often holding two 
offices at a time; judge of the Levy Court, wliatever 



PRIVATE DALZELl's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 85 

that Avas, for it Avas like Ben Butler's cript, no one knew, 
and Commissioner of the Customs as well, the blessed 
old soul was as happy as a clam at high tide, with his 
two salaries drawn at once. Tlie drudgery of the desk 
there for two years took but little of my time or atten- 
tion, and I managed to draAV my $120 a month regu- 
larly, until, at last, disgusted with the monotony, and 
helplessness, and hopelessness of an existence a little 
less endurable than a private soldier's, I resigned it, in 
September, 1868, and left the city, and came back to 
Ohio. 

I could Avritc a book on what I saAv of Washington 
life. But, as I said of army life, it has been written 
threadbare, and the subject is repulsive to me. My per- 
sonal friends, Hayes and Garfield, respectively, while 
President, tendered me a clerkship there at $2,000 a 
year, but I declined both, with thanks. Reduced to the 
alternative of taking a clerkship again, or taking a mat- 
tock and a spade in the fields, I should not hesitate to 
embrace the latter as a means of support. 

Washington said no man worth the powder and lead 
to kill him would be a soldier in time of peace. That is 
my estimate of a clerkship there. The most wretched, 
dit>satisfied, depraved men I ever met outside of military 
life, I met in the corridors of the departments in Wash- 
ington. Always poor, often drunk, always pressed for 
money, in debt, without hope, without a future, gen- 
erally they were the most wretched set I ever knew. I 
never hated a man bad enough since to desire to see him 
become a Washington clerk. 

Of course, there Avero exceptions, but they Avere fcAV. 
Andy Johnson Avas President. I saAV him and his 



36 PEIVATE DALZELL S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

drunken set of official rowdies start to swing tlie circle 
in 1866, and saw them return drunker still. I know it 
is the fashion to slur it all over, and lie about it, but I 
know a drunken man when I see him, and a drunker set 
I never clapped eyes on. Whisky since sent most o. 
them to their graves. 

I attended the impeachment trial, and reported it tor 
a provincial paper, and received no pay. I did tlie same 
afterward at the trials of John II. Surratt and Guiteau. 
Somehow I always got admission to these great state 
trials— the only ones of note since the trial of Burr- 
even when thousands of other men were denied admis- 
sion. I.J 
At nio-ht I attended Columbia Law School, graduated, 
and in tke summer of 1868 was admitted to the bar. I 
had seen all the great men of the Nation-for they all 
o-et to Washington, either to Congress, or to see it, and 
.ay thev have been in Washington. I published my 
first book there, " The Life of John Gray, the Last Sol- 
dier of the Revolution." It is in all the libraries of the 
world, but never brought me a cent. Its only effect was 
to deplete my purse of all my savings, and procure the 
passage of a bill which gave the old hero |500 a year 
his last two years, when he died, and with him the last 
man of the army of Washington. 

In the final audit of affairs, 1 hope to find this to have 
been the best act of my life, and now believe it was 

But, as the spinners of yarns say, I am a little ahead 
of my story. In the summer of 1867 I got a leave of 
absence, went home, managed to find that vailed lady on 
horseback, and we were married. She returned with me 
to Washington, and we kept h.-use there a year, as happy 



PRIVATE DALZELI/S AUTOBIOGIIAPIIY. 37 

as happy could be. She still survives, and the music of 
her voice, with the rhythm of her footstep, is to me still 
the divinest harmony of this life, and the sweetest prom- 
ise of a life beyond. In sunshine and shadow, buoyant 
with hope, crushed with sorrow, standing by me at"^ the 
cradle or at the open grave of our child, in prosperity 
and adversity, ever the same loving faithful wife— but for 
her, life would be one long hopeless agony to me. In all 
the dark labyrinths, hers is the only hand of affection 
left to lead me on to the light, and hold me back from 
stumbling into the gulf of despair. 

Once and long I loved the wine cup, drained it to the 
dregs, and when there seemed nothing left but utter ruin 
for me, after the world had turned its back on me, with 
our children in one hand, with the other she gently took 
hold of mine, and led me up and out of the darkness, 
until again my feet were firmly planted on the Rock 
Christ Jesus. 

V. 

It was a chill December evening — December, 1868 

my wife, inHmt daugliter, and myself, arrived at the little 
inn at Caldwell, Ohio. Fifteen hundred dollars was all 
the money we had in the world, and that was hers. We 
immediately bought a house— the house we yet live in. 
It took all our money to pay for it, and we had a hard 
winter. I had no practice yet at the bar. I kept writing 
schools of nights in the country, and so earned a few 
dollars. We did not make ten dollars a month, but we 
managed to get along. An economical wife can make a 
little go a long way. 

The next fall (1869) I was elected prosecuting attor- 



38 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ncy of my county, and from tliat on Ave had no more 
trouble, financially at least, for many years, until I en- 
tered into politics. 

I determined, during the two years for Avhich I was 
elected, to close every liquor shop in my county, and 
after a hard struggle I succeeded ; but it cost me a sec- 
ond term, for the liquor men banded together, and spent 
money lavishly to defeat me in 1871, and they succeeded. 
I had now to depend on the practice of law alone, and 
applied myself closely to it. 

I pause a moment, here, to relate the pleasantest in- 
cident in all my career as a lawyer these twenty years. 
I was called to Washington county to defend an old 
schoolmate of mine, Dr. Dcvine, in a case brought against 
him by a carpenter who had built his house. It involved 
all my old friend, Dr. Devine, had in the world. It was 
for less than $300, yet a judgment would ruin him, and 
turn him out on the streets with his devoted wife and 
eight small cliildi'cn. I stayed all niglit with Devine, 
and we never slept a wink — talked all night over his 
case. The next day we tried it before a jury in a jus- 
tice's court in the woods. All the merits were on my 
side, and the trial was a bitter and protracted one. I 
was Avorked up to the highest pitch, and won the case. 
The bystanders gave me three cheers, and resolved to 
build a town there, which they have since done, and it is 
called Dalzell to this day — one of the handsomest vil- 
lages in Ohio. 

Forming a partnership with Judge Knowles, of Marietta, 
my practice grev/, and Avas soon Avorth $3,000 a year. 1 
saved something, purchased a farm, and had nearly $4,000 
in money, and owed no man in the Avorld a dollar. And 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOCIIAPIIY. 89 

SO life ran on smoothly and prosperously for four golden 
years — tlie flower of my life — until, in an evil hour, in 
the summer of 1875, 1 foolishly accepted a nomination to 
the legislature, was elected, and there ended my pros- 
perity. After the election in October my name Avas in 
all the papers, congratulations poured in on me from 
every quarter, and I was invited to take the stump in 
Pennsylvania, which I did, at a great waste of time and 
money. I thought notl>ing of it then. It was only 
Avhen, years after, I loohed into an empty flour-barrel 
and hungry children's faces, and felt in my empty 
pockets, that I fully apprehended my folly. Four years I 
now spent in the maelstrom of politics, whirled and tossed 
about at the caprice of fortune, without any power to 
control it. I look back on it with pain. If a man can 
make a large figure like Blaine, Garfield, or Sumner, in 
politics, let him pursue that profession till he dies. lie 
can work out his destiny there better than elsewhere. 
But for mediocrity, I know of no calling that oflers a 
more certain ending in disappointment, remorse, pov- 
erty, and despair, than American politics. It is a grand 
game, and none but grand men need try to play it. Let 
men of moderate abilities like myself keep out of it, if 
they would escape the chagrin and mortification of fail- 
ure, accentuated with the pangs of poverty. 

Four years in the House of Representatives, though 
I was a member of the Judiciary Committee all the 
time, and Chairman of the Committee on Military Af- 
fairs, on the stump every fall, not only in Ohio, but in 
Massachusetts, Indiana, and Pennsylvania, and in the 
councils of the leaders of the Republican party, its 
Presidents, Senators, and Representatives in Congress, 



40 PRIVATE UALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

on terras as familiar as I was with comrades in the 
army, yet all this was hut a poor compensation for the 
loss of my hiAv practice, my farm, and my money. 

Hayes was governor. I admired him then and I ad- 
mire him yet. I determined he should be the next 
President, and so wrote him in the fall of 1875. Ilis re- 
ply I printed in all the newspapers in the United States, for 
at that time I had easy access to all of them. This started 
the ball rolling that finally landed him in the White House 
next year. I was one of nine members who were on his 
special train on that perilous journey to Washington, 
and there, amid the cries of the mob, I saw my prophecy 
and hope fulfilled on the 5th of March, 1877, and I re- 
turned to the legislature determined that Garfield should 
succeed him. Garfield and I had often stumped together, 
ami I so admired him that I began to write him up for 
the Presidency. As in the case of Hayes, the wise- 
acres made merry over it, but 1 kept right on. There 
is nothing so advances the prospects of a politician as 
to keep his name constantly connected witli some great 
office. At that time, besides having access to all the 
dailies as a contributor, I had the free use of the tele- 
graph. I kept prophes3ing that Garfield would be 
President, until at length in 1880 I saw the prophecy 
fulfilled. 

Garfield niid Hayes have often referred to all these 
matters in the presence of leading statesmen, and I have 
of their letters bundles that will confirm it. 

By the way, at sixteen, I began to write to prominent 
men, and have kept it up ever since. You can not 
name a statesman of the past quarter of a century who 
has not Vv'ritten to me, and whose letters I have not here 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGUAPIIY. 41 

i)i mj desk. Their pul)lication by my children, when 
the writers and I are dead, and their publication will 
Avrong no man, will make plain many things that now 
seem very dark to the uninitiated. 

General Sherman's letter to me, in 1875, when I was 
exploiting Hayes for the Presidency, was published at 
the time in .America and Europe, and produced a pro- 
found sensation. It virtually nuide Hayes President, for 
before that the papers Avould not notice him at all as a 
Presidential possibility. 

General Hayes' letter to me on the same subject was 
extensively published, and Howard copied it into the 
campaign life of Hayes in the year after. 

General Garfield's letter before his nomination, the 
one written by him to me, also, the evening after his 
nomination, and the one inclosing his photograph the 
night before he was shot obtained an extensive publica- 
tion at the time they were written. But the great bulk 
of my letters from celebrities have never seen the light. 
Charles Sumner, Henry Wilson, Horace Greeley, Sam- 
uel Bowles, Governor Morton, and Zachariah Chandler^ 
wrote me almost from their death-beds, as did also Gen- 
eral Grant. They are especially valuable to me. Long- 
fellow, Bryant, and Holland wrote to me up to nearly their 
last days. I have some of the last utterances of the 
greatest men that ever trod the planet. They will fill a 
large volume. 

There is no way to get at the interior secret and mys- 
tery of events but in this Vv"ay, early adopted by me, and 
]>ursued without cessation now for twenty-five vears and 
more. These were not the days of senseless scrawls or 



42 PRIVATE DALZELI/S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

typewritten letters from nobodies \y1io had mistaken their 
calling. 

One of the first signs of decay which I observed in 
our statesmanship Avas the substitution of the type- 
writf'r and the clerk for the good old hand-written 
method universally employed by our men of note. A man 
Avho can not muster the courage to write a letter, and 
boldly sign it with his own hand, but tries to shield his 
imaginary rising greatness behind a typewriter, never 
was President or any thing great, nor in the nature of 
things can be. Nothins; reveals character like an auto- 
graph letter, and the celebrated man whose greatness is 
not purchased with money, and is not the caprice of ac- 
cident, from Cicero to Sumner, ahvays wrote his own let- 
ters with his own hand, and so gave them a value beyond 
that of gold 

The paper that such a hand touches is transmuted into 
a possession forever, to be treasured and prized like the 
gifts of a king, while the wretched scrawls of clerks 
and the idiotic splutter and splash of machines have no 
more intrinsic value than rags, and my uniform custom 
has been to burn them the moment I received them, and 
that for two reasons : 

First. It was conclusive evidence that the writer was 
nobody, and, like all nobodies accidentally in power, 
anxious to conceal his nonentity. 

Second. Because I never Avanted to correspond with 
any man but on equal terras, and I therefore abruptly 
discontinued all correspondence with a self-confessed 
fool. 



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PIUVATE DALZELl'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 



I had observed that from most of the army societies 
the privates were left out, as if they were no part of 
the army which suppressed the Rebellion. So, in 1873, 
I determined to call a soldiers' reunion, to be held at 
Caldwell, Ohio, September 16, 17, 1874; and it was held 
here then, Avith 25,000 people present, and Clencra-l Sher- 
man and staff, in full uniform, on the platform. It was 
an immense success. The Associated Press spread its 
proceedings before the whole world every morning. It 
at once became National, and known and read of all 
men. Sectional strife was never more heated and bitter 
than then. The bloody shirt was waving in all its terror, 
Korth and South. It was the only stock in trade of 
both parties. In the name of the Lost Cause the South 
was kept solid. By the same sign, a solid North con- 
fronted it with a fierceness little less intense than that 
which had characterized the war. 

I determined to try to see what could be done to 
soften the asperities growing out of this ngly state of 
feeling, and so, in issuing the call for the National Re- 
union of 1875, at Caldwell, I added a strong appeal to 
the men of the Blue and Gray to meet there on a plat- 
form of friendly and patriotic equality. 

At the roll-call in September, in the umbrageous for- 
est which I had rented for the purpose, twenty-eight 
states responded, but three men in the Gray — one of 
these, General Cockrell, now the distinguished senator 
from Missouri. 

The press commented variously on all this. Not a 



44 PRIVATE dalzell's autoeiograpiiy. 

little ridicule was aimed at me by the clever gentlemen 
of the extreme partisan daily press, but, -with tlie wiser 
and more patriotic editors of the loading daily papers, 
my novel experiment met with unbounded praise, and my 
idea was a success. 

A third reunion, of tremendous pi'oportions, at Cald- 
well, in 187*], crowned my work with success. General 
Kilpatrick himself making response to my address, 
and giving my idea unqualified approval. So my re- 
union was ^National, and the idea which I had launched 
floated on over the Republic under the smile of popular 
indorsement. I was president of all these reunions. 
I paid nearly all the expenses, and it nearly ruined me 
financially. But I was young and ardent then, and 
stopped at nothing to make it go. The ne^Yspapers Avere 
very generous to me tlien, and gave me the frea use of 
their columns to explain my project and purpose. Re- 
unions in imitation of mine sprang up every-where after 
that, and now there is one at every cross-roads every 
fall. 

The first year I held my reunion in the woods near 
the little village where I live. Over twer.ty states were 
represented ; and, while tiie crowd v>as largely made up 
of privates, General Sherman, and some of the leading 
men of the Nation, were present, and spoke. The pro- 
ceedings Avould fill volumes. 

I have been at scores of reunions since tliese, which 
sprang out of this rural beginning, and no one rejoices 
more than I at the growth of tlie idea which I had tlie 
lienor to originate and plant in American soil, even if 
it did cost mo years of hard labor and all my little for- 
tune. And it would be ungenerous of me to forget that 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOLIOGIIAPHY. 45 

Congress passed Lills to help me carry out my pro- 
gramme; and the War Department, under General 
Grant, freely gave me guns, ammunition, and other ma- 
terials, without Avhich I should have failed. The Legis- 
lature of Ohio did tlie same thing. The two men Avho 
were so soon to be President — Hayes and Garfield — hon- 
ored it Avith their presence, and were my guests. Not a 
man of any note, in war or peace, then living, hut what 
sent me a generous Godspeed, and the letters containing 
these messaL''es of good will and encouragement I have 
laid away with my other epistolary treasures, and tliey 
wdl be the best if not the only inheritance that I shall 
leave my children. 

In 1877 and 1878 we removed the reunion to tlic city 
of Marie'tta, and President Hayes and cabinet were 
present in the former year. 

In 1879 it was located at Cambridge, and was one of 
surpassing interest, both in enthusiasm and numbers. 
It had no rival on the continent. Annually the great- 
est statesmen in both sections vied with each other as to 
who should speak the loudest in its praise. Congress 
annually paid it the compliment of yielding it the ap- 
proval of both Houses by the passage of bills in its favor, 
and the newspaper press indorsed it with great fervor. 
And then I dropped it, after six years of untiring and un- 
ceasing labor, a labor of love, out of which I never received 
a penny, and never shall, though it cost me thousands of 
dollars and the flower of my life. My object was at- 
tained. The rank and fde, the poor, nameless private 
soldiers, had commanded public attention and asserted 
their individuality. The Nation had applauded the ef- 
fort to compel the public to respect the rights of the 



4C PRIVATE DALZPJ.l's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

rank and file, and at tlic same time recognize the fact 
that sectional liatred no longer existed between the men 
who did the fighting North and South. My idea had 
won its way to popular favor, and there I dropped it, 
knowing well then, what all know now, ten years later, 
that the little leaven of patriotism and peace which my 
hand had put in the first call for the first reunion, away 
back in 1878, was destined, ere long, to leaven the whole 
mass of our politics, and rcluike and put down forever 
the petty cry of placemen who kept fanning the dying 
embers of Avar in order that they might boil their little 
pots it its blaze ! 

VII. 

During these reunion years I had my duties in the 
legislature to perform every winter, several weeks every 
autumn I was on the stump for the Republican party, 
and I had my full share of practice at the bar. I sup- 
pose from 1874 to 1882 I made a thousand speeches, 
such as they were, and scores of them were eagerly 
sought and printed in the papers. I never had any great 
opinion of them myself, but, such as they are, they are 
to be republished yet ere long. 

I saw my delegation, elected by an honest people, melt 
away under the talismanic touch of money freely given 
as bribes. I saw no private soldier ever could be elected 
to Congress. I saw no poor man had any business in 
politics. I saw that bribery was the power behind the 
throne, greater than the throne itself, and I then and 
tlicrc, growing old and poor and worn out in the service 
of my country, abaruloned politics forever. 

In 1878, I was freely offered the nomination for Con- 




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PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 

gvess, as I had been once ten years before, but I declined 
it, because I thought Colonel Van Vorhes. our then Con- 
gressman, had a prior claim on the honor — for that is all 
it was in a Democratic district, in Avhich General Warner 
was elected that year. But in 1880 I was silly enough 
to be a candidate for Congress, and saw myself balloted 
for nearly three hundred ballots, and then withdrew in 
disgust, and then and there withdrew from politics for- 
ever. And from that time I have devoted myself wholly 
to my profession of the law. What mattered it to me 
that the Garfields, the Hayes, the Kilpatricks, and Doug- 
lasses and I, had traveled and stumped together on terms 
of equality, and together had received the cheers of 
thousands, from Boston to Cincinnati ? What mattered 
it that I had spoken with all the great men of my day, 
and for ten years had seen my name in every paper that 
I picked up? What profit that I had been for ten years 
in daily communication with the wisest and most power- 
ful men of my day ? 

One thing — for I must hasten on to the close — let me 
pause to say in this hurried resume of the events of my 
life. The newspaper press, I love it, its editors and re- 
porters. Among them I have found the best, the most 
enlightened and generous spirits I have ever known. It is 
the power behind the throne. Of all things outside the 
shadow of my own roof- tree, I most love the daily news- 
I paper press. The best years, the best moments of my 
[life, have been spent upon it. No one can know the 
rapture of the soul over print, who has not reveled, as I 
have, with delight, for thirty years, writing for all the 
daily papers. 

I had begun almost rich, and I was now very poor in- 



48 I'PvTVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

deed, I had not a dollar in the world, Avas loaded down 
with debt, covered Avith rags, and broken in health. For 
myself, I could have borne all this Avithout a murmur, 
but here Avere my wife and six children ; and, Avith one 
mighty effort turning my back on all the illusions I had 
so long and so fruitlessly pursued, I resumed the prac- 
tice of the laAV once more. It Avas a hard struggle. At 
times I felt like giving up. But a sense of my obliga- 
tion to my family and my creditors, and a little of the 
old pride — a saving grace in a fallen or broken man — 
held me up and pushed me on to moderate success, and 
on to solid ground once more. The four years from 
1882 to 1886, Avith only- occasional efforts in the press, 
the remains of the old habit, glided on SAviftly and 
smoothly in my dingy little law office. It Avas the 
quietest and pleasantest period of my life, Avithout a jar. 

VIII. 

During these years there were born to us six children, 
four daugliters and tv/o sons — James Monroe Dalzell, 
born November 26, 1870, and Howard Hayes Dalzell, 
born July 4, 1878. 

Monroe had the dark eye and hair of his mother, and 
resembled her in all her most excellent qualities of mind 
and heart. From the time he Avas five years old, he Avas 
sober and reticent, and busy Avith tools of all soi-ts that 
he could lav his hands on. lie Avas a. natural mechanic. 
He had the patience, application, industry and ingenuity 
which must combine in large degree to make the suc- 
cessful operator Avith tools. Even for toys he preferred 
his little ])lane, hammer, hatchet, and miniature saAV. 




PRIVATE DALZELLS CHILDKRN. 



nuvATE dalzell's autobiogkapiiy. 40 

lie watched the men on tlie streets breaking stone, and 
at once hes-an to look about for the means to do the same 

O 

in his mother's yard. He improvised a little hammer of 
his own by driving a stick through a top, and with this 
went to breaking stone, " napping " them as skillfully as 
if he had worked at it for years. At five or six years 
of age, in this way he constructed a walk to the back 
door of our dwelling-house, which will be good for a 
hundred years. 

He took to his books much the same as other boys, 
and never neglected his studies for the sports and out- 
door employments for which he early discovered such a 
relish. I do not think he was seven until he was a good 
reader, and fond of books adapted to his years. 

He came to his mother, one day, and said : "" Mamma, 
I want you to draw a paper for me to sign, that I will 
never touch tobacco or liquor while I live." Ilis mother 
drew it up in his own childish words, and there at her 
knee ho signed it, and, what is better, he kept it as long 
as he lived. Soon after, he asked her if she could write 
a pledge that he would never use any bad words. She 
turned the temperance pledge over, and wrote the prom- 
ise as requested. lie looked at it gravely and thought- 
fully a moment, and, looking up into his mother's earnest, 
loving face, said : " Mamma, put in there, ' Not if I can 
help it'" — so careful was he of the solemn vow he was 
about to sign. And so it was put down, and he put his 
name to that also. This was his own suggestion through- 
out, lie had never seen a pledge, nor had he ever seen 
any one sign one. He had been thinking of the evils of 
tobacco, cigars, liquor and profanity, and came to his 



50 PRIVATE DALZELl's AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 

mother, as all good boys do, with childish candor and 
faith, to get her help in building up the noble character 
of Avhich thus early he had been led to form a true concep- 
tion from the talks he had had before that with his mother. 
Other boys, drank whisky and beer in his presence, and 
when where older persons could not see them, often tried 
to induce him to break these solemn pledges, as some of 
them have told us since, but he kept every one of them 
faithfully until his pure unsullied soul returned to God. 

In a sacred corner of the family sitting-room to-day, 
that mother's written pledges, Avith the childish signa- 
ture, is framed and hung, and bears its solemn testimony 
to the character of the noble boy, now gone forever. 

He had a passion for raising chickens, and soon be- 
came an adept in the business. Nothing delighted him 
more than to feed and water the chickens, and with his 
little hands he would gather the eggs, and lay them away 
softly and carefully. He attended to the brooding hens, 
and watched the advent of the little chicks with childish 
delight. He always had money — seldom wasted a cent. 
The little presents of money that he got, the money ob- 
tained for running errands, and for the eggs and chick- 
ens that he sold, he carefully laid away, instead of wasting 
it in foolish purchases. I do not think he ever asked me 
for a cent after he was six years old. He always had 
plenty of money. When his mother or I needed a nickel 
or a dime, he always gave it to us cheerfully, for he al- 
ways had it to spare. He seldom missed a day from 
Sabbath-school, and I do not think he ever went Avithout 
the penny for the little basket ; a penny, too, that he 
had earned himself by some honest employment adapted 
to his age. 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 51 

He studied all the best methods of raising poultry, 
knew all the diseases to which they were subject, and 
the best remedies that were known to the editors of the 
poultry papers with which he was always supplied. He 
constructed coops for them with his own hands, so skill- 
fully that, while they were clean, bright and airy, that 
no rot or other enemy of the little chicks could ever 
enter or molest them. Little metallic troughs suj)plied 
the little ones with water without danger of drowning. 

His house for the larger chickens was always a mar- 
vel of comfort and cleanliness. I have seen old men 
and women takino; lessons of him in this useful art long: 
before he had reached his teens, and of all the boys in 
his native town, he was the only one who had ever re- 
garded the matter of sufficient importance to care to 
study it and attend to all its minute details. He drove 
his mother's cow and attended her garden. His veg- 
etables were the earliest in the town and the best. He 
had a natural love for all that kind of Avork, and his 
whistle and song never had a happier sound than when 
he was at Avork with a spade or hoe in the garden. 
With this, as in all he laid his hand to, each year showed 
improvement. He read the agricultural papers that 
came to our house, not as I do, but carefully, studiously, 
and for practical purposes. He studied the nature of 
plants, and soils, and trees. Not a tree that his dear 
hands ever planted but is growing to-day. Thrift fol- 
lowed his hand every-where, and still his studies were 
not slighted. He could play on the piano and the harp. 
The last tune I ever heard him play was Sweet Home, 
as he passed out of the front gate, playing it on his 
harp, as he went sweetly and all unconsciously to his 



52 PKIVATi: JJALZKLI/S AUTOIilOOlU I'll V. 

death. Much of" lii.s time he .spent in my now lonely 
oflice. 

If there was vacation, on Saturdays, or during had 
weather, he sat at tlie tahle with me. For liours to- 
getliei- — hjng hef'o)-e he was ciglit years old, often after- 
ward, and down to the last — he Avould sit, and spell, and 
read in Wehster's Unabridged Dictionary. Of all the mass 
of -writing and printing in his desk here beside me to- 
day, tliousands upon thousands of words, not one mis- 
spelled — not one — the effect of that sort of study. He 
bought a small printing press witli some potatoes lie liad 
to sell, and often amused liimself with it. lie could set 
type like an old printer. He liad inks of all colors and 
a decided artistic genius, loved to draw, and jjaint, and 
skf'tch, and p)-iiit letters. I have tbcni all by ine yet, 
just as they dropped from his hands into the drawers, all 
evidencing the existence of pure and noble aspirations, 
gone to rest now with him forever. 

If such things were possible — music, painting, pi'int- 
ing — in the unfolding character of a youth of fifteen, 
wfiat would they not iiave flowered into at twenty, or 
grown to at forty? He had no tcuch(;r in any of these 
things. Indeed, his companions and parents had neither 
taste nor ability for any such pui'suits. He took to 
them as I'ojm; look to jjoelry — because they came to 
him. Vjvery step he made was a sur[)rise to us. New 
faculties were continually unfolding without warning. 
Now it was the Inirp, then it was the bru-;h, Ti(;xt it was 
the stone-mason's Iniiiimcr, or the carpenter's plane, he 
was using, and all with :i skill and confidence which, to 
the ancient Greek, would have been evidence tliat he had 
h'arned it in some otlier sphere and in a, f'o))ii(;r life. He 



nUVATF. PALZKLL S AVTOF.IOGRAPllY. Oo 

gave no wavnin;::; of wliar was oouiing. He talked lirtle — 
never of hiuiself or his plans. Tlieir lirst announeement 
Avas his -work upon them. He wrought in silence and in 
calmness, no noise, no haste, no confusion, generally 
alone. 

If he had known that his life on earth was to end at 
fifteen, he would, I think, have acted and looked as he 
did. Unaccustomed to censure or punishment, he was 
as little concerned about praise. If his work pleased his 
mother, he Avas happy ; but I never saw such indifter- 
ence to praises of others as he always manifested. He 
Avas always usefully employed. AVhile he could romp 
and play like other boys, Avhen the hour caiue for him to 
follow his self-appointed tasks, he dropped every thing 
else, and Avent to Avork like a man Avho kncAV Avhat he Avas 
doing. Some of his beginnings in all these things Avere 
crude and unfinished at lirst, but that never discouraged 
him ; he persevered until, at least, the point of utility 
Avas accomplished. 

lie built heavy stone Avalks around the house and one 
of brick. This Avas Avithin the last year or two. Of the 
thousand and one things about a house and outbuildings 
that get out of repair one time or another, there Avas 
scarcely one noticed until his Avilling and skillful fingers 
Avere at work making necessary repairs. Ilis mother 
having no servant for years and years — on from a small 
boy, indeed — her every wish Avas anticipated by the boy 
Avho Avorshiped her and received Avorship in return, of 
the purest sort, the only remuneration he ever sought. 
W ater, coal, kindling-wood, every thing, not one day 
only, but every day, Avet or dry, cold or hot, there his 
hands had broui^lu them, where his mother could reach 



54 PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIO(iKAPIIY. 

them with the fewest steps. No errand proper for a boy 
could I ask him to run, however busy at phay or work he 
might be, but his little feet Avere ready to run the mo- 
ment that I spoke. 

His kindness of heart made him friends. lie had not 
an enemy in town. The best mothers held him up con- 
stantly as a model for their boys to imitate in industry 
and morality. lie could skate, and ride, and Avalk on 
stilts, play base ball, play checkers, swim and leap equal 
to any boy of the town. lie could not bear to be beaten 
at any thing. Strong, active, wiry, and spirited, he 
sometimes frightened me with his daring feats in ska- 
ting, swimming, and riding. He al)solutely knew no 
fear, and only refrained from laughing at my appre- 
hensions of danger because of his respect for me, which 
never once failed to show itself, whether I was present 
or absent. 

He was a universal favorite in the village. The retired 
farmers sat in their doors, and Avith pleasant smiles 
cheered the little man as he trudged along with his hoe 
or his spade on his shoulder going to his work. I had 
no taste for gardening or outside Avork or sports of any 
kind, so he just took it up himself. His mother bought 
a fiirm and several vacant lots near toAvn, and it was his 
delight to cultivate these Avith his OAvn hands. lie had 
an old head on young shoulders. When the land Avas 
to be paid for, he ran to the bank and got out .^GO, Avliich 
from his small earnings he had saved to help his mother 
pay for it. He Avas not a miser, lie Avas ready to give 
his mother or me his last penny cheerfully, but he Avould 
waste no money. He Avas not ashamed to be seen on the 
streets in plain, dust-stained clothes, often patched, too. 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 55 

with liis hoe on his shoulder, and Frank, his favorite 
dog, trotting at his side. It Avas a picture of industry, 
contentment, and thrift that formed an example which 
all tlie good mothers in the village constantly urged their 
boys to emulate. 

He helped make hay in the beautiful June days the 
week before he was hurt. That hay since sold for the 
money which his mother put into the monument at his 
grave. Could any monument in all history tell of a 
nobler origin than his — literally built v.-ith his own hands, 
the fruit of his industry? Though not fifteen wlien he 
ascended the skies, he had over $25 in money besides all 
this. He seldom joked, never trifled, had little taste for 
fiction. He so loved the truth that he was averse to 
any the slightest exaggeration or perversion of it, even 
in amusement. He tried Gil Bias, Don Quixote, Gul- 
liver's Travels, and Paul and Virginia, but I only got 
him to read them because he wanted to please me. He 
preferred travelers' tales, history, and matters of fiict. 
His tastes were refined, but eminently of the practical 
sort. A lie was a lie to him, even if invented for 
amusement, and he preferred truth above all things. 

Next to the pleasure of using his hands and brain in 
devising and constructing little wagons, carts, chicken- 
coops, and the like, he most enjoyed reading pure, good 
books. He would often ask me, as I read aloud some 
wonderful story, "Is that true?" It was his constant 
question. If I could answer in the affirmative, he Avould 
listen with rapt attention. If, however, I was compelled 
to say that it was the creation of fancy, that was enough. 
He was off in a trice, and would not hear a word of it. 
With the development of his tx^sthetic nature, swiftly un- 



56 riuvATE dalzell's autobiography. 

folding itself in his growing love of music and the work 
of the pencil and brush, which he wielded so gracefully 
and naturally, I looked for the awakening of his im- 
agination and fancy and a corresponding love of literature 
of the poetic and romantic sort. But that faculty had 
not yet developed itself. What might have been the re- 
sult of education and maturer years in this direction I 
can only conjecture, but I doubt not it would have been 
all that I desired. I never saw him idle a moment. 
His brain and hands were busy from morning till night, 
and he slept sweetly at my side with peace and innocence 
for the companions of his dreams. He never closed his 
eyes in sleep until he had asked the God of the night as 
well as of the day to bless him and us all. He seldom 
talked about religion, but when he did it was earnestly 
and thoughtfully, and with a faith that was clear as a 
star. He rather acted than spoke religion. He had all 
his mother's gentleness and tenderness of conscience, 
and saw nothing in the Avorld to compare with character. 
His only care Avas to be good, to shun evil thoughts and 
evil companions, and beyond this he had little to say 
on moral or religious subjects. Duty Avas his delight, 
and the only pain he ever seemed to feel Avas Avhen he 
thought he had deflected in the least from the path of 
duty. If I could paint a perfect character I should be 
successful in describing that of my boy, and no one Avho 
knew him Avould hesitate to indorse it. He Avas not bril- 
liant. • He had to Avork hard to learn Avliat he Avished to 
knoAV or do, but once at his task he never would quit 
it, never think of any thing else, and above all things 
ask no one to help him, until he had gained a compara- 
tive mastery of it. I wondered Avliy he did not go to 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 57 

the }3rintcrs to learn to set type. His mother smiled as 
I made the suggestion, and said, quietly : " Did you ever 
know Monroe to ask any one to show him how to do any 
thing ?" 

No, that was not his way. He had eyes and hands 
and a brain, and a will that knew no discouragement 
and that laughed at obstacles. He worked in a sin- 
cerity and sadness, as I see it now, that was almost su- 
pernatural, and I believe that it was the work of a genius 
that I could not fully appreciate until it set in death. 
He had trained his dog, Frank, a large, intelligent, and 
beautiful fellow, to work like a horse in his little waffon. 
He contrived and made both harness and wagon, and 
the first we knew of it was when he came up the lane, 
with his dog drawing a load of sods which he was bring- 
ing to beautify his mother's yard. Frank was his con- 
stant companion, and did whatever he was told to do. 
The friendship and devotion of that dog for his master 
formed one of the most beautiful pictures I ever saw, 
with which presently this chapter will close. 

But, alas ! all things in this world come to an end, 
and pass out of vicvv', except as they are retained in the 
memory of the surviving and bereaved. 

It was a beautiful afternoon in June, the 28th day, 
1885. The family had all dined together, and no one 
around the sacred board was more cheerful, healthy, or 
■happy than my darling Monroe. Verging on manhood, 
strong, buoyant, and full of youthful fire, he sat at my 
side, and often looked up into my face and smiled. I 
see his da.rk eyes, and his honest, manly, confiding face 
of innocence and beauty yet, as it shone with angelic 
beauty in that final hour. 



58 PKIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

If I had known then, as I know now, that I was sitting 
with my dear boy at what was to prove soon to be our 
" hist supper,'' how my heart wouhl have throbbed with 
emotion no tongue can express. But the future is all 
^hidden from mortal vision. Not all, after all. Glimpses 
of the coming fate steal over our souls in such supreme 
moments, but vrithout the key which heaven holds in its 
own keeping and refuses kindly to give us them, we feel 
the shadow coming Avithout understanding its terrible 
import and signification. The mystic pulse of my spirit 
that day felt the throb of coming disaster, the first faint, 
mysterious thrill of a fate that was nigh at hand. 

" "Who is that at the door ?"" I inquired, as I heard a 
footstep on the porch near where we were sitting. Why 
I asked it I could not then tell; now I know. The por- 
tentous shadow Avas approaching. It was death at the 
door. An awe like a passing; shadoAv of the shiftincr 
clouds of a summer's sky came and went in a moment — 
a moment that I coidd take hours now in describino- and 
still fail to make any one understand. " It is Carl," 
answered one of the family, '• only Carl." 

Carl Martin Avas a sAveet, noble lad, as good as he was 
lovely in form, feature, and disposition. He lived near 
us, and had dropped in, as he did at all hours, ahvays a 
welcome visitor, for he was about Monroe's a^e and a fit 
companion every way. He had come to take a Avalk 
Avith [Monroe — a Avalk that was to be his last. Thus we 
conduct each other to the grave in our shortness of 
vision, Aveakness, and helplessness, one way or other, in 
all time. Lightly rising from the table, catching up 
his hat and his French harp, Monroe tripped out, and in 
a moment the youths passed through the gate, my son 



PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 59 

playing '■ Sweet Home '' as he went. They were both 
clean and well dressed, for it was Sunday. 

I sat down to read, but somehow felt restless. I now 
can understand why, though then I gave it scarcely a 
thought. Thought furnishes no key to the mystic mean- 
ing of such a spell. It transcends all human scrutiny 
and forecast, and lies far beyond the reach of specula- 
tion, conjecture, investigation, analysis, and exemplifica- 
tion. It mirrors itself in darkness, and is the shadow 
of a shadow. An hour had passed — one short hour since 
the bovs had left. I was sittino; in the familv sittintr- 
room : our children, five in number, and my dear wife 
sat beside me. It was three o'clock, a summer afternoon, 
bright and hot. The door on the street was standing 
wide open. In a moment, like a flash of liffhtninir from 
a clear sky. a boy sprang into the room, white of lip and 
face and out of breath. " Monroe is hurt," he gasped, 
rather than said. " "Where ? Will he die ?"' I cried, as 
I sprang up and staggered to the panting lad. '*At the 
turn-table ; he is badly hurt," stammered the poor little « 
fellow ; and away he went, frightened almost to death 
himself, and alarming all whom he met as he fled for 
home in his terror. It was half a mile to the turn-table 
of the railroad. I sprang through the door, out onto 
the street and across the field, without waiting: for hat or 
coat or shoes. Mv wife followed me closelv, weenincr 
with me as we ran. As we neared the fatal spot, a great 
crowd appeared to be gathered there, and in a moment I 
found my boy stretched out in an arm-chair and bolstered 
up by kind hands. His face was as white as the paper 
on which I am writing. His brow was marble — as white, 
as cold. Xot a tear was in his dark, beautiful eve, not a 



(JO PRIVATE DALZELL's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

moan on his lips. His garments were saturated and 
heavy with blood. It was all plain in a second. He and 
Carl and the gasping messenger above referred to had 
been whirling the turn-table, and it caught my poor 
Monroe across the hips and crushed the last drop of 
good blood out of his body. 

His heroic mother came up, knelt before him, and 
kissed him as only a mother can. One glance was 
enough. 

She vrept. 

" Mother, do not cry," softly murmured the boy in his 
weakness of body and in the strength of his love. 

She saw he was gone. 

I saw he was gone. 

The brave, good man who had taken him from the 
table and borne him in his arms told his mother that 
when he picked up the broken and bleeding form of the 
boy, the only words he uttered were, " Do you think I 
Avill live until mamma comes?" " Yes, indeed, no danger 
. of that," returned the good man, and tlie boy smiled 
and was silent, and spoke no more until she came. 
Tenderly he was taken up by the strong arras of kind 
friends, and carried home and laid on the bed of suflcr- 
ins: from which he was never ao-ain to rise. 

A week of untold agony followed. All that affection 
and skill could do was done for him by friends, neigh- 
bors, and physicians. He was subjected to several se- 
vere surgical operations, one of them lasiing for over 
two liours, and his lieroic conduct, patience, and meek- 
ness under all these trials surprised the surgeons and 
filled us all with wonder and increased admiration. He 
scarcely moved — never was heard once to complain. 



PRIVATE DALZELl's AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 61 

Through the long, weary wi.tches of the nights that fol- 
lowed, his faithful pastor sat beside him and prayed for 
his recovery. 

The pnstor's wife and numbers of other noble women 
ministered to his wants, and endeavored by all their 
sweet and gentle Avords and smiles to sustain and com- 
fort his sinkino; and suiferinsr soul. 

He Avore a pleasant smile to the last moment. He 
recognized the boys and girls of his own age, and had a 
word for every one who called. Every eye that met his 
swam in sympathizing and sorrowing tears, but he never 
wept or expressed a fear. 

Calm, gentle, grov>'ing weaker day after day, the habit- 
ual smile of his pure and happy life was still on his lips 
as the supreme moment came on. Wan, weak, almost 
helpless, he had a " thank you"' or a " please " for every 
one who smoothed a pillow, waved a fan, or cooled his 
fevered lips witli a cup of water. The whole country-side 
came to see the pale sufferer for miles and miles around. 
Hundreds had to be excluded toAvard the last, but they 
would linger in the yard and street adjacent to the house, 
and with grave faces full of anxiety and voices subdued 
and sorrowful inquire how he was. There Avas no lack 
of nurses, no lack of kind friends, for Heaven had him 
in its keeping, and sent its messengers there, the reward 
of a brief but blameless life. 

The Fourth of July daAvned at last, and he still 
breathed and Avas conscious, but Ave all saw the end Avas 
nigh. 

It was the birthday of our son, HoAvard Hayes, just 
seven years old that day, and instead of laughing and 
playing, the little man was celebrating this birthday, the 



62 ruivATE dalzell's autobiography 

brightest holiday of all the year to those who are happy — 
he was celebrating it with tears and lamentations. The 
kind parson knelt and prayed for him. Monroe closed 
his eyes, now dim Avith the shadows of approaching 
death, and folding his pale thin hands over his manly 
breast, he reverently joined silently in the prayer. 

The night before, m great agony, when his mother and 
I were sitting by his cot, he had folded his hands in the 
same way and uttered these words calmly and with deep 
reverence, " 0, my God, be Avith me." It Avas not a 
second until he was asleep His prayer was answered. 

Though I felt all unfit to do so, when all hope w^as 
gone of seeing my noble boy restored to health, I had 
asked him if he could trust the Lord, and if he saw his 
way to Heaven clear, and he had told me, in his earnest 
laconic way, that he did — I could say no more. I was 
overwhelmed Avith grief. How could I? 

Up till noon on that Fourth of July, his suffering Avas 
very great. In the afternoon he began to sink. Avoe, 
Avoe Avliat a day ! To sit there and Avatcli that beloved 
boy breathing out his life, and not to be able to rescue 
him from the grave. 

What a Fourth of July ! In the village all that day 
the children stood in silent groups about the house all 
thinking of Monroe ; all anxious to hear the latest ncAVS 
from his bedside. They left the sidewalks and inarched 
up and down the street for fear of disturbing the boy 
they all loved. It Avas a Sabbath in our toAvn. Of the 
hundreds of boys there Avas not one gave a shout or fired 
a cracker that day. No sound of cannon or guns, no 
revelry, no music, no speeches ; the town Avas aAved into 
silence and dread, and had only one thought, and that 



PRIVATE DALZELL'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 63 

was of Monroe. Never liact a human character received 
a more expressive eulogy than the silence and respect of 
the village gave Monroe Dalzell that day. 

As the sun set at the end of that long weary day 
of pain and anxiety, quietly, peacefully, without a strug- 
gle, as if resicrnins himself to slumber on his mother's 
breast, our darling ceased to breathe. And us — how could 
we realize it? How could we bear it in the cliilly em- 
brace of death ? O, what darkness entered that house 
then never to depart! The greatest loss that can befall 
a human being, the loss of a darling son, our hope and 
pride, had befallen us, and our grief was not a transient 
shadow but the very darkness of despair and mourning 
that only deepens still as the years roll on. 

His funeral, attended by all the best men, by rich and 
poor, old and young, the country round, testified the es- 
teem in which he was universally held. He was sincerely 
mourned by all who were witness of the beautiful life he 
had lived, and even those who had never seen him were 
attracted to the obsequies by the fair report they had of 
him from his neighbors or playmates. The school children 
wept — they had lost a friend. His Sunday School teacher 
and the teachers in the day schools, the gray haired 
judges, the learned lavryers and physicians, and the good 
honest farmers all around, no less than the poorest in 
the village, followed the hearse that bore his mortal part 
to the little country graveyard. 

If he had lived to fifty years and realized to the full 
all the hopes that he had indulged of the bright career 
that seemed to lie before him, he could never have come 
to the grave with greater honor. But above all the sat- 
isfaction and comfort Avhich we derived from this re- 
(i 



64 PRLVATE DALZELL'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

flection, infinitely above the good opinion of men, de- 
sirable as that good opinion is, is the consolation that we 
find in believing that his soul is at rest in Heaven. 

The day of his death was the birthday, as I have said, 
of our only remaining son, Howard, and strangely enough 
to seem to me a warning from Heaven to us all, the 
day of poor dear Monroe's funeral was our daughter 
Annie's tenth birthday, the fifth of July. Farewell, dear 
Monroe. We shall meet in Heaven. 



PART II. 

MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 



I. — Dave Siieppard, the Foragek. 

Dave Sheppard was in our mess, and a merrier lark 
never f'ouglit with Milroy, ran with Sigel, or stampeded 
with Hunter. Long-legged, gaunt, hungry, and as longr 
winded as a hound, a chase of a dozen miles at any hour 
of day or night Avas nothing to Dave, if it only ended in 
bringing in a box of honey, a pair of chickens, or a can- 
teen of mountain dew. He was seldom present except 
on pay-day. The captain, good-humored, and as big a. 
rake as any of us, scolded and cursed poor Dave all in 
vain. He was so jolly and good natured that the cap- 
tain could not find it in his heart to punish Dave, espec- 
ially so, because every time the fellow came in he had a 
leg of mutton, a full canteen, or a bunch of honey, to 
appease the captain's wrath and conciliate his good will. 
These things were very soothing to ofiicial anger in those 
days, and the boys understood it so well, that they never 
went out on a French of their own but they came back 
loaded with peace-oiferings of some sort for our head- 
quarters. That made every breach whole. There was 
nothing bad about Dave. In his midnight predatory ex- 
cursions beyond the picket line, of course the harum- 
scarum youngster, for he was barely eighteen, always 

(65) 



66 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

carried his life in his hands — and his musket, and always 
brought both back undischarged. Like the dove let 
loose from the ark, he generally brought back something 
more than he carried away, too. 

lie improved every opportunity for plying his favorite 
amusement, and nothing afforded his genius better scope 
than the frequent stampedes and retreats, when every 
fellow went it on his own responsibility, and the officers 
were so busy taking care of themselves they had no time 
or inclination to look after us, or enforce military disci- 
pline. Besides, even on ordinary occasions, like the old 
Roman, he would either find a way or make it to steal 
beyond our lines, in more senses than one. 

There wasn't a hen-roost or pig-pen, a bee-hive or a 
still-house, within ten miles of our camp, that Dave 
would not manage to discover and visit by hook or by 
crook. He was sly and reserved, and generally kept 
these secrets to himself, lest some other adventurous 
spirit would reach the spoils before him. 

Still, I managed to get into Dave's confidence, and 
many a time I wrote passes for him, signed by great 
colonels and generals (in a horn), and assisted him in 
passing the grounds and pickets, and thus earned a share 
of the booty. I found it pleasant and profitable to stand 
in with Dave. As I was at head-quarters most of the 
time, doing writing for the officers which they were not 
competent to do for themselves, I had many a chance to 
purloin tobacco, cigars, ham, potatoes, and occasionally 
a bottle of whisky, of which Dave was almost if not 
quite as fond as they were, and would smuggle a good 
part of them out to Dave when his business was dull, 
and his stealing chances slim. These good offices made 



MY WAR SIvETCHEG, ETC. 67 

an excellent impression on Dave, and he never failed to 
reciprocate when he returned laden with the rich spoils 
of war after his long midnight excursions be^'ond the 
camp — always provided that I stayed up, and watched 
him before he had a chance to hide his plunder, eat 
it up, or drink it up, and lie out of it. For, just as 
sure as he got in without me seeing him, he come 
around the next morning with the gravest and most 
honest of faces, and swear on a stack of Bibles he got 
nothing. He would bear watching, and I gave him 
the full benefit of it. If out on the edge of camp, well 
on toward morning, I happened to divine correctly the 
road of his return, and met him loaded to the guards 
with honey, whisky, soft bread, headless chickens and 
the like, and looking for all the world like a walking 
market-house, or a perambulating hennery, it was indeed 
hard for him to look me in the face and swear, as he was 
ready to do on the slightest provocation, " that he had n't 

got a thing." 

I used to steal the officers' coats, epaulets and all, and 
send my brave out on his errands of plunder as grand as 
any officer. You ought to have seen him, with his false 
whiskers, his password, and his blazing uniform, sneak- 
ing out of the lines on horseback, attended by three or 
four orderlies, galloping behind, no better than himself; 
but if their departure was imposing, imagine, if you can, 
how anxious I awaited their return in the solitude of the 
mountains, not knowing when my gay cavaliers would 
return, or whether they would not end their careers at 
the hands of some cowardly bushwhackers. But had I 
not written their passes with a gay flourish, ruled grandly 
in red ink, put them in stunning envelopes and bound 



68 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

llicm in their belts, for not a soul of the mes.s could read 
or write but rny.self. I might have put their death war- 
rant thei-e -witli perfect impunity, for all they would ever 
have known. 

Thus, with carmine ink for blood, and steel pens for 
Kwords and bayonet:s, did I bear my part, like the gen- 
erals, in the great war for the Union. 

I was a private general — a sort of unknown com- 
mander of parts, enjoyed the joke there all to myself, 
and now am trying to get the Avhole world to enjoy it 
with me. I kept it to myself these one and twenty 
years, but now that the generals are cracking their 
jokes, spinning their yarns out of their fancy, why may 
not I be permitted, at least, to write the bald-headed 
and wi'inkled ti-utli of tlie war? I fought it through 
with pen and pencil once, as the generals did, and in 
some way like them. I go over the same ground again. 
I have seen whole regiments, divisions, and corps wither 
away under the consuming fires of the lead pencil, much 
as I have seen the same havoc wrought in the romantic 
pages of tlie Century by the like instrumentality wielded 
by generals whose swords returned bloodless as turnips 
from the dread carnage of war ! 

I hope the discriminating and appreciative reader 
will not confound the truth of the details of history 
witli any ill-natured sarcasm, or railing, for I have not 
forgotten, nor has he, that whole corps did sometimes 
melt to the around under the blazin^r and merciless fire 
of the guns of the rank and file of the T'nion army, to 
whom belongs the credit or the blame, whichever he 
y)]ease, for filling every rebel grave (not one exceptedj 
from the Potomac to I'exas. 



MY WAR .SKETCHES, ETC. 69 

But, to return to a more congenial tlieme, the narra- 
tive of Dave's exploits, as well as those of the few choice 
spirits whom he and I selected to execute our most diffi- 
cult enterprises, or ratlier, to he more exact, to bring 
into camp booty too large and numerous for one man to 
capture and carry. 

Dave used to phiy dead, lie tric<l all manner of 
tricks to keep me out of my equitable share of the stuff. 
lie would at times prove too smart for any thing to de- 
tect him. lie could lie like a general, and with as sol- 
emn a face. Separating himself from the rest in the 
dark, in some dark mountain recess, he would fire off a 
carbine or pistol, then ]-aise an unearthly yell and gallop 
toward his companions, who would give their horses the 
t-pur, drop their chickens and other truck, or any thing 
that impeded their flight, and return to me with ashen 
choeks and ghostly whispers, to tell how poor Dave had 
at last passed in his checks and fallen a victim to bush- 
whackers. I would pretend to be terribly cut up over 
it, get their coats and ciU'bines that I had stolen, and, 
cautioning them on their lives not to say a word about 
Dave, or they would all be bucked and gagged, they 
would turn their horses loose to find their owners the 
Ijest they could, and sneak off to their dog-tents, as if 
nothing had happened. A half hour later, Dave would 
come in drunk as a lord and hard to repress, with oce;ins 
of Avhisky and enough poultry and other provisions to 
last us and the general a week. 

When the ofiicers got their proportionate share of tbe 
whisky, Avell watered, and a like amount of the toughest 
and oldest of the chickens, they asked Dave and nic no 
questions. 



70 MY WAR SKETCHES, KTC. 

But you ouglit to have seen the otlier fellows next day, 

as they passed our tent and saAv Dave and me at a quiet 

game of poker, both full as geese, and each with the 

same canteens they had dropped swung around our 

necks ! That was the way you had to keep your canteen 

in those days if you wanted an eye-opener yourself. It 

Avould not do to lay it down, or it would be dryer than 

a powder-horn in two minutes. We laughed. They 

swore like our army of West Virginia only could swear. 

It looked blood-thirsty for a minute, but, as there were 

but three or four of them, we made our peace by giving 

them each a snifter at the canteen, and off they went, 

singing, 

" We've drank from the same canteen," 

and that was the last of it. 

Next time we planned extensive excursions they were 
left out. We had no use for people of such intelligence, 
and chose fresh victims, in turn to be duped and dis- 
carded like these. Discipline was very loose in those 
days. When not on picket duty, the boys did about as 
they pleased, and these intrigues were more easily man- 
aged than when Phil Sheridan took command after, and, 
enforcing strict military rules, had many a poor fellow 
bucked and gagged, and some even shot, for ten times 
less than we were accustomed to do almost every week. 
Death was announced as the penalty for straggling or 
pillaging beyond our lines when little Phil started up the 
valley a year or so after these events, and well do I re- 
member that, during the prevalence of that order, how 
carefully and frequently Dave and I pursued our old 
pastime. But we were a little more sly about it. Still, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 71 

the added danger of such movements somehow only made 
them the more relishable to Dave, and, besides, habit 
had become a second nature to him now, and he could no 
more keep from robbing hen-roosts and stealing whisky 
than a general can, nowadays, abstain from a little inno- 
cent lying in the magazines. " Thus does use breed a 
habit in a man." But to go back to our story. 

I do not know why it is that I keep running off into 
these episodes, parallels, and moral reflections, except 
that it may be, in this renaissance of war literature, in 
using the wild and entertaining memoirs, annals, histo- 
ries, and sketches with which our periodical literature 
abounds, I may have all unconsciously, certainly unin- 
tentionally, acquired the habit, so manifest in all these 
forays of the fancy yclept war history, of magnifying for- 
eign details on purpose to obscure the real facts of the case. 

I shall avoid all such excursions of the fancy here- 
after, and religiously stick to details of the utmost mo- 
ment to a true development of the military history of 
my countr}^, and what comes much to the same thing, of 
myself. It is hard to separate U. S.! 

I hope no one will smile. Writing history is serious 

business. 

" To smile were want of goodness and grace, 
Tho' to be grave is beyond the power of face," 

in reading niucli of it. 

ijC *;i -I^ ^ P^ ^ 

These stars indicate a complete revolution of style and 
subject-matter — a sort of jumping-off station, to let me 
down to complete the sketch with which I began, and 
now I return with great pomp and circumstance, and be- 
coming gravity v/ithal, to Dave, and never forgetting 



72 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

myself, which, indeed, in all military narrative with 
Avhich I am conversant, is the Alpha and Omega of his- 
tory. Dave got ahead of me at last. Sigel was on his 
famous retreat from Woodstock, June, 1864 (indeed, he 
Avas seldom off a retreat). Dave and I were not behind. 
The truth of history compels me to state that we were 
about a mile ahead of the retreating column — at the 
heels of Sigel and his generals, making good time, that 
hot afternoon, in the direction of Cedar Creek, with the 
rebels firing far hcldnd vs. Not the most powerful gun 
in the Confederacy could have reached Dave, me, or the 
general who lead that Sif/elopoedia I We got tired of the 
main road, and in the confusion and disorder of the mad, 
and senseless, and uttery causeless retreat from a foe not 
the third of our number, now was our chance to resume 
our old operations against hen-roosts, distilleries, and 
things. This was more to our taste. 

So we ci})hcred off into the country a mile from the 
line of retreat, far in advance of the flying fugitives and 
their doughty general. 

We were hungry. We had been running toward the 
enemy three hours and from him nine, and had not had 
a morsel to eat. Our commissary was far in the rear, 
perhaps in the hands of the rebels. Before it could 
reach us we would starve, sure. So, after due delibera- 
tion in that council of war, for which we were always 
ready, Dave and I highly resolved to hunt up a negro 
and cook or torture him until he told us where we might 
find food to appease our military hunger, and drink to 
quench our military thirst. Those were military days. 
So on we trudged across the fields, through the w^oods, 
away ofl' the Winchester road. Every house near the 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC, 73 

road was already looted, and Ave could neither beg, buy, 
nor steal a morsel to eat or a drop stronger than water. 
Any one less skilled in the predatory art of Avar Avould 
have been discouraged at the disappointments that met 
us at every house. The Avomen and children Avere fam- 
ishing. As I look back to it now it makes me shudder 
to think Avhat might have occurred if Ave had found a 
loaf of bread, or even a chicken. We might have taken 
them, and been filled Avith everlasting remorse and re- 
pentance, all in vain after the bread was eaten, and 
the last limb of the foAvl picked to the bone. Our con- 
science Avas spared this mortal offense. We had some 
conscience, though a hungry stomnch speaks in such 
tones of thunder, under such circumstances, that nothino; 
less than the failure to find prevents the OA^ert act, and 
leaves the soul Avithout the stain of larceny, however 
petit. On Avc Avent, discussing the situation, until, just 
as Ave emerged from the Avood again into the open fields, 
Ave came upon an antiquated darkey, viewing the retreat- 
ing army from the hill tops. When he saw the color of 
our coats, he knew AVe were friendly to his race, and he 
fairly grinned and bowed Avith delight. 

Our parley Avith Sambo was short, sharp, and decisive. 
We told him Ave Avould shoot, hang, burn, and destroy 
him from the face of the earth, if he did not instantly 
pilot us to Avhere Ave could get provender. He looked 
solemn, and, Avith the instinct of his poor, down-trodden 
race, using the last and only defense of servitude and 
subjection, lied in his throat, and swore, " Fore God, 
massa, don't knoAV where you can get a bite." V»^e 
quickly assured him this would not do, and, fixing bay- 



74 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

onets (Dave and I were matches for any unarmed, crip- 
pled old negro in the Confederacy), bade him trot ahead 
and show us our desired food or he Avould soon be welter- 
ing ankle deep in his own gore. This was all put on. 
We never killed negroes or any one else. Oh, no ! not 
a bit more than if we had been generals. 

But we were acting upon military necessity, and he was 
contraband of war, and by the rules of our council Dave 
and I had solemnly resolved to devote him, life, limb, 
and honor, to the service of our country — that is, 
of us. 

He dodged on ahead, and wanted to be garrulous, but 
wo checked him into reticence by a few light prods of 
our bayonets, which made him scream with real terror, 
and promised us all we desired. After leading us across 
a mountain gorge, over a creek, up a steep wooded hill, 
and a mile or so further on, he brought up at the. garden 
fence of a cozy little log hut, near which a cow was graz- 
ing in the pasture. Here was the land of milk — if not 
of honey at least, the Canaan for which, footsore, weary, 
sweating, and swearing, I regret to pause to remark, we 
had been bending our steps these two hours or more. 

The poor old fellow told us avc should find what we 
wanted, and we let him go, for after we were gone it 
would be death to him, sure, if what he had done should 
be discovered. A solitary woman and baby kept the 
hut. She manifested little surprise or concern at our 
rude entrance. Years of war in that region of hostil- 
ities had familiarized her with such visits, though being 
so far off the main road her retirement was more sel- ' 
dom invaded than if her dwelling had been nearer the 
great highway. We had been paid off a few days be- 



MY WAR SKETCIIER, ETC, 7-") 

fore, and had no chance to spend our money, so we had 
plenty. We were not the men to rob a lonely woman. 
So we bought three canteens of milk, and two loaves of 
bread, the only eatables she had about the premises, and 
gave her a five-dollar greenback out of my pocket-book, 
and went on our way rejoicing. It was the first time 
the sagacious Dave had ever beaten me. It was not the 
last. Striking across the country, on our return to the 
main road, we took a drink of the milk, but concluded 
to save two canteens of the milk and bread for our sup- 
per in camp, wherever the infernal crowd should stop. 
Loose as discipline was there, yet we must be in camp 
that night — I to write general orders, and Dave to lie to 
the boys, vt'ith less red tape about his fabrications than I 
should wind around mine. 

Dave was stronger than I. I never saw him so kind 
and considerate before, as we leaped and stumbled along 
toward camp, which turned out to be Cedar Creek. The 
sun was setting as we fell in with the retreating forces, 
mingled with them, and were lost in them, as pebbles 
drop into the sea and are seen no more. 

Dave had kindly, in consideration of my weakness 
and exhaustion, taken it upon himself to roll the bread 
into his haversack and string both canteens about his 
neck ! 

Confound his kindness ! 

Every man has his moments of weakness, when he is 
easily duped. One had better be on the alert if he has 
a Dave near by. This was the cause of my disaster : 
We had run, walked, trudged, stumbled, or climbed thirty 
miles that day, spent two or three weary, monotonous 
hours in the battle of Newmarket, and here Ave were at 



76 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

Cedar Creek for the night, Avith nothing to show for all 
the toils of the war but two loaves of bread and two 
small canteens of milk, Avhich we were to furtively stew 
or l)oil for supper down some lonely ravine as soon as we 
could conveniently meet. 

I reported at head-quarters, wrote orders and dis- 
patches for an hour, and slipped out to find Dave, the 
milk, and the bread. I asked the men of his company. 
No one had seen him since the battle — few had seen him 
then. He had a magic way of keeping himself invisible 
in the smoke of war. So had I. 

Maybe that is why we were such familiar friends, and 
on such terms with our generals. But if you have a fa- 
miliar friend don't trust him out of sight with the milk 
and bread Avhen he is hungry — no matter how hungry 
you are. I ran this way and that, down among the 
mules, among the ambulances, where over three hundred 
and more poor wounded fellows writhed in agony in the 
dark and alone. One poor fellow shot in the abdomen — 
a stranger to me — called piteously for water. I filled 
my cup hastily in the creek and raised it to his lips. He 
drank eagerly, rolled over, shuddered, and died before I 
got out of the ambulance. 

Then I ran on. There were no rations in camp. I 
was starving. I actually chewed mouthfuls of grass and 
pennyroyal, as thousands had done before. We had put 
off eating our bread to have a royal feast of bread and 
milk boiled together. Where was Dave ? Doubtless 
down in some secluded cave or dell, dingle or thicket, 
eating my bread and milk. 

I could not find liini. I laid down on the wet grass, 
suppcrlcss and swciu'ing. I preserved no record of the 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 7/ 

words I said, as I now saw how stupidly I had permitted 
Dave to steal my supper right, out from under my eyes. 
He kept out of my way for a week, and then one day 
came o:rinnin<:; around with some toothsome chicken and 
whisky, and in five minutes we both were singing 

" We won't go home till morning." 



II. — Not all Fun in the Army. 

Christmas day was not the merry, rollicking aifair it 
used to be at home. As we old soldiers try to recall the 
experiences of our camp life, we always endeavor to 
keep the best, at least the gayest and most thoughtless, 
side out. But if any one supposes the human heart is 
other in war than in peace, he is much mistaken. It had 
its moods there as elsewhere. It was not all sunshine. 
Shadows chased each other there as here. We are ac- 
customed to speak of it lightly, robe it with romance, 
picture it in poetry, and overarch it all with laughter and 
song and playful pranks ; but oh, me ! At times, floods 
of sadness, deep, dark, and abiding, full of gloomy 
sadness that no pen can portray, swept over the hearts 
that throbbed and sighed in their blouses of blue. Oh, 
the weariness of the long and lonely vigils on the picket 
line, who shall ever describe it? On some lonely moun- 
tain top, pacing his solitary beat, among the tall, dark 
pines, all the hours of the night, sleepless and shivering 
with cold, in the fierce blasts of winter, the picket boy 
had many a sad and serious thought that no historian or 
poet has ever yet described, for ere the relief came and 
the first gray streaks of dawn began to light the crags 



78 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

and cliffs that frowned above, tlie soldier had met his 
fate and lay stiff and stark in death at his perilous post 
of duty. And then, when the relief reported and found 
him there, however young and thoughtless they might 
seem, as they tenderly lifted his lifeless corpse and 
buried it hastily in the frozen earth near by, who shall 
try to record the sad thoughts that swept through their 
souls? No merriment there. No, glee, no joke, or 
prank, or song — an awful burial scene ; a lonely and un- 
marked grave below and weeping eyes above. These 
were seasons of despondency and gloom, when even hope 
itself was clouded and yielded not a single ray to illum- 
inate the darkness of the hour. Oh, the Aveary waiting 
for the " cruel war " to cease ! The sad letters from 
home and the sad replies that went back in response, 
until every chord that united severed hearts vibrated 
deepest woe. The ministry of mirth, at times, it is true, 
was evoked to chase away these shadows from the heart, 
and many a time the lips thrilled with songs and cheers 
and cheerful discourse when the harp of a thousand strings 
within wailed and trembled only with notes of sadness, 
melancholy, and despair. Much of the glee of camp 
was put on to exorcise the magic spell of sorroAV, and 
much more to cheer the friends of freedom, and more 
still to intimidate the enemies of our country's honor. If 
the great, bleeding heart of the army in times of gloom 
and misery had been laid open to the gaze of friend and 
foe, and not covered over with a halo of merriment and 
glee, as it truly was, our friends at home would have 
been discouraged beyond distraction and despair, and 
the insolent foe, whose greatest fear was the unbroken 
spirit of the great army of freedom, would have hailed it 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 79 

as the death-knell of the Union, and saluted it with de- 
fiant veils of mocker}'. 

And so it was that thou2;htless observers of the armv 
then, and still more thoughtless historians of it since, 
have kept in the background all the melancholy reflec- 
tions of the soldier in tlie field, and recorded nothing 
scarcely but the lighter and more joyous phases of that 
eventful period. And now, if any one shall suppose — 1 
mean any one of the young people born since the war, 
or any one who was too old or too covv-ardly to enlist 
then — shall suppose all was joy and merrymaking in the 
soldier's life, and that no serious or solemn thought ever 
possessed his breast, then their estimate of the soldier 
will be fearfully amiss. 

We had our jokes and games, and have them yet, " to 
make the bitter draught of life go down." We had our 
songs and merry pranks, and many an amusement be- 
sides as innocent and guileless for the most part as any 
that holy altars or firesides here shall have at Christmas 
time. We could not sit dovfn and mope and sigh like 
so many melancholy Jacques ! We could not hang our 
harps in the chapperel and mourn like the dove, or chat- 
ter like the sparrow. We could not sit in the ashes 
with Job or stare and sigh with Democritus. We were 
charged with weighty duties and felt the responsibility 
like men, though in the weary waiting hours of camp life 
we acted and spoke often like boys. Serious ? Did you 
ever know congregation or assembly at any shrine or 
altar more serious than we, less playful, less frolicsome, 
less given to foll}^, when vfe dropped the mask of jollity 
and good-fellowship, and leaving the boy all behind, in a 
moment became men of iron and steel in the stern face 



80 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

of battle? Oh, we can crack our jokes and spin our 
yarns now to the utmost verge of exaggeration for the 
amusement of the generation born since the war, but let 
it never be forgotten that the army that could laugh at 
pain, and cold, privation, and distress, and for the mo- 
ment affect the hey-day gayety and sprightliness of youth, 
seemingly without a care or thought of the morrow, or a 
memory of yesterday, was the same army that, with 
blood and smoke-begrimed faces, with steady step and 
clenched teeth, stormed the heights of Mission Ridge, 
forced the gates of Vicksburg, 0})ened the Father of 
Waters to the sea, and unfurled its flags of victory at 
Appomattox over the broken battalions of Lee, and ended 
the war in a blaze of glory. No boy's sport, that. No 
child's play, let me say. These were earnest men in no 
holiday sport. I tell you now, and so whenever you 
think of these men at their plays and sports in camp, 
let it forever be remembered to their credit, that they 
could fight as well as pray or play either. 

Fitz Daber was a lieutenant of cavalry in our brigade, 
which v/as the First of the Second Division, Eighth Army 
Corps, Department of West Virginia. Short, wiry, mer- 
curial little fellow, with flaming red beard and hair, a 
real, wild, flying little Dutchman, never still for a mo- 
ment, dashing about on a sorrel nag with a glass eye, 
and about as nervous and gingery as he was himself; of 
course every body knew Fitz Daber, of the New York 
Cavalry. He was always in a towering passion, sweat- 
ing, swearing, and swaggering — a real little Lilliputian 
bully on horseback. He and his fiery horse were one, 
and a chicken with its head cut off — a favorite figure 
with me, as the reader observes — was composure and 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 81 

dignity in comparison with the furious little Dutchman. 
He had been a beer-slinger in a Ioav down saloon in New 
York until he got his commission and big brass buttons 
and shoulder straps, and now was beside himself with 
ridiculous vanity. The military reader will remember 
many like him. " Some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them," 
says the old brochure, but few like Fitz Daber attain it 
all at once by all three of these routes. One morning 
he became famous. He had his little company of cavalry 
out on a drill. Forming them in double file, as if on 
dress parade, Fitz dashed his spurs in his peppery steed, 
his flowing whiskers streamed out like fire-brands back 
over his shoulders, as with drawn sword he galloped di- 
rectly away from his command for three hundred ^^ards. 
Then, wheeling madly about, he rode as furiously back 
toward them, while they wondered what the hades he was 
up to, or whether he was not gone mad sure enough, since 
he v/as so near crazy at best. When within thirty paces 
of the front line of men on horseback, he reined up his 
cranky steed so savagely and suddenly as to" throw the 
latter back on his haunches, and nearly pitched Fitz out 
of the saddle. Recovering his seat he halted, while the 
men, able to hold in no longer, laughed and cheered in 
his face. 

This was too much for Fitz. He fairly frothed with 
rage, and waved his sword defiantly at them, which made 
them laugh the more. Frantic with passion, and strug- 
gling to command the most expressive English that his 
broken tongue could manage, he bawled out : " Attin- 
shin, battaly-on ! Look fierce ! Not look so tem like 
von cafs ! Not like von slieeps ! Look like hil ! Look 



82 MY WAR SKETCllEy, ETC. 

like me ! " Again he brandished his flaming sword and 
■wild red Avhiskers, while his eyes fairly rained fire, and 
the hoys on horseback screamed Avith laughter that 
could not be suppressed. The parade was dismissed 
and the drill ended for the day. It spread all over the 
valley. 

For days and days, at all hours of the day or night, 
whenever Fitz appeared,.he heard nothing but his own 
warlike words. It rang up and down the lines, and be- 
came a by-word in all our camps, whenever any fool of 
any sort put on airs or pretended to be extremely brave. 
" Look like hil ! " " Look like me ! " And its moral 
effect has continued even to this day. 

III. — The Stomachs of the Boys in Blue. 

Stomach ! I guess we had. It was copper-bottomed 
and lined with something akin to boiler iron. Turned ? 
Not often. It was hard to turn. Talk about the ostrich's 
pov.-er of digestion. It was nothing to ours. The pos- 
sibilities of human digestion is a curious subject, patho- 
logically or physiologically considered, but plain as noon- 
day compared with the tangled labyrinths of philosophy 
in which one is plunged on attempting to describe the 
same under military environments and necessities. No 
man who never was a soldier can possibly fancy to him- 
self tlic strains and pressure the digestive apparatus will 
bear under the hard trials of war. 

It takes a tremendous, almost incalculable force from 
within to turn a good locomotive boiler inside out, but 
the military gastronomic engine will bear a thousand 
times more pressure than that and never budge an inch, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. Od 

or even a hair-bread tli, from the right line of its per- 
pcndicuhir. 

If wheezy young dyspeptics, who are dieting them- 
selves to death, and afraid of every thing ofiered in the 
whole cook book, would take a morning walk of thirty 
miles over mountains and rivers, wading and swimming 
the latter in all kinds of weather, and then proceed with- 
out a change of linen, sleep out in the open air on the 
mountain side, supperless and hungry, get up with the 
earliest streak of dawn and march till noon, still hungry 
and fatigued, and then smell a cup of coffee ! "What 
would follow ? The drug stores and doctors would go 
into bankruptcy, the lunatic asylums close for repairs, 
and the undertakers lose their occupation, except for 
nonogenarians occasionally, or a good crop of cente- 
narians every centennial day. 

That's what's the matter with the American stomach, 
poetry, and politics ; stuffed like a goose, three times a 
day, with all manner of meats, when tho poor thing cries 
^^peccavi," and refuses to entertain the mess without fre- 
quent ructions, much whisky, bad temper, and divorce 
suits. It is the prime cause of atheism and anarchy, for 
who can believe in God or man with a pain in his stom- 
ach ? If it hadn't been for the war, I would never have 
found out I had a stomach, or have to treat it. But 
then it asserted itself, and was never in better humor 
wdtli itself and the man wlio respected it. If you ever 
knew a soldier who had dyspepsia, you need not examine 
his person for the scars of rebel bullets. He wasn't 
there ! Hanging about Washington, bumming at the 
rear, loafing out of the range of lead, he may ha\e ac- 
quired this peculiarly domestic disease that lingers about 



84 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

the hearthstones of " sv/eet home," but he never acquired 
it scouring the mountains Avith Milroy, pushing up the 
valley with little Phil, or plunging through Georgia to 
the sea with Sherman. I Avish I knew how, in polite and 
decorous language, which would offend nohody but a 
dyspeptic, to relate an extreme and somewhat delicate 
illustration of the foregoing remarks. 

I guess I will risk it. So brace up, and be prepared 
for rather a realistic and graphic delineation of the power 
of a well-ordered stomach to resist the influences that 
would prove too powerful altogether for one that fared 
sumptuously every day, and two or three times more so 
on Sunday. I v/as with a detachment of General 
Suthorn's forces at Stevenson's Station, near Winchester, 
Va., in January, 1864, a few days after the First Vir- 
ginia Cavalry had had a sharp little fight with Imboden's 
guerrillas, and it vvas our lot to encamp near that field 
for the night. As was too often the case, our wagons 
were behind, and we had no provisions, not a bite, and 
had appetites like circular saAV mills or politicians' as- 
pirations, that yearned after almost any thing or every 
thing. We would not have quarreled with any cook or 
cookery that night, as we lay down and looked up at the 
stars and tried to fancy they were good to eat, but too 
far off", like our good commissary. Hungry all night. 
You don't need to be called three or four times for 
breakfast, and then turn over on the wet grass and Avish 
the breakfast and the cook both at the devil. Oh, no ! 

You could eat every thing — the cook not excepted — 
and rise with the lark and out-sing him in your native 
lay, so to speak, poetically. We rose with something 
less poetic — the pig. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 85 

Do you know the pig is an early riser? Go to the 
pig — at Stevenson's Station — thou dyspeptic sluggard, 
and learn to bo Avise. In fact, ho must have been up 
and abroad all night, to be dressed so early as I saw him 
dressed that morning. 

A pig dressed — it is a fact. I saw him dressed, and 
helped dress him myself, and he looked quite charming 
dressed so. A pig dressed ? I guess so. Else how 
would he be a fit companion for gentlemen soldiers such 
as we ? I have seen pigs since that — nay, more, hogs, 
of all genders, admitted to the best circles on his or her 
dress alone — hast not thou, gentle reader ? But never a 
pig like this ! But, to return to our pork — our dressed 
pig, to adhere to the figure of speech more exactly still. 
And our pig had som.ething more to admit him than his 
swinish dress, something more substantial for the thou- 
sands of empty stomachs that ached to receive him. He 
got a warm reception. 

I heard the guns go pop. I smelled something — not 
a rat, not a pig — what was it ? Were we attacked ? Fol- 
lowing my heroic impulses, I led, as usual, on the retreat 
which I imagined to be forming — our daily occupation 
in those strategic days — and ran plump over a dead 
horse and a — a — a — what do you think it was ? Could 
mortal man believe it ? A live hog, fat as butter, a real 
hog, in the Shenandoah Valley, stripped, as I supposed 
it was, as clean of every thing movable as the White 
House is by our retiring Presidents ! An instant and I 
resumed my natural heroism, and shot the poor swine — 
no, the fat hog — dead on the spot. A swarm of fellows 
ran up, and in a jiffy slices were cut, hair and all, from 
the dead porker, spitted on bayonets, and roasting before 



86 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

he had given his expiring grunt. In fact, I tliought I 
heard the first half cooked piece I s\Yallov7ed grunt au- 
dibly in ray gastronomic cavity. It was all cavity — all 
void, an aching void — that it seemed could never be 
filled. I did not look at the defunct horse, out of which 
the pig had popped ! Now, go and read Charles Lamb's 
Roast l*ig, with its rich, delicious flavor, and tempting 
juices, and imagine us hungry fellows swallowing the 
mess as if we were feasting at Delmonico's, and you will 
have some idea of the powers of endurance of a first- 
class military stomach, well disciplined in the school of 
exercise and starvation. 



IV. — The Forced March to Moorefield, W. Va. 

'•'•Dido et diu-,^' sang the divine Mantuan, but we didn't 
— it Avas chickens. Our natural fondness for poultry 
was not so discriminating, mind you, that we should 
have eschewed duck if we had to choose our chews. Yio 
were ready to go upon a fowl fare, any thing fair or 
fowl, and would liave pinched a duck as quickly as 
a, chicken, provided, always, Ave could have found the duck. 
]jut our armies had ravaged Vfest Virginia a full year 
before our regiment commenced its bloody work — on the 
hen-roosts of that disloyal region. 

We were encamped at Ncav Creek, W. Va., in the Avin- 
ter of 1SG2-3 for a short time. There Avas quite an army 
tliere — for Avhat purpose, or Avhat fool sent it there and 
kept it there during the beautiful Aveathcr of the late 
autumn of 1802, I do not knoAV, but the Avorld Avill no 
doubt ring Avith his fame Avhen he publishes his memoirs. 
He must be a very modest man to have so long Avith- 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 87 

held his name from the gloAving annals of his country's 
military romances, at the weight Avhereof the shelves of 
the people, not to say the poor people themselves, are 
now groaning. 

I have noticed that the titled gentlemen who planned 
most of the masterly inactivities, and were responsible 
for most of the disastrous campaigns and battles of the 
war, are disinclined to claim any credit for the prelimi- 
naries that led up to such tremendous results as avuII nigh 
destroyed the nation ; but, marry ! how they come in on 
the home-stretch in the magazines to claim the credit 
of successes due partly to accident, or others due more 
to the spontaneous fighting of the clumsy rank and file, 
who, of course, are left out of the story with all the pro- 
priety of the omission of Hamlet from the play that 
bears his name ! 

But to my chicken story, and here it is. It was early 
in December that an order came signed, or scrawled 
rather, by some ofiicial, or officious fool, ordering our 
army to march to Moorefield at once. The hurry and 
bustle of preparing, on ten minutes' notice, for a forced 
march of forty miles into the mountains, packing knap- 
sacks, loading wagons, striking tents, and all that con- 
fusion and shouting and sAvearing attendant upon such oc- 
casions Avere made doubly interesting by the noteworthy 
fact that a blinding snoAv-storm, the first of the season, 
prevailed, and Avinter Avas on us suddenly in all its fury. 
The Avcek before the Aveather had been fine and the roads 
superb, and the rebels Avere at Moorefield, as we all Avell 
knew, and that in force ; noAV they were gone, but a 
crisis Avas on the country, and it was ours not to reason 
why this idiotic move Avas necessary in a blinding snow- 



88 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

storm. It could be justified hy only that stretch of 
charity "which covered all the blunders of the war — a 
million or so — under the precious name of strategy. 
That campaign, however, was not without incident. 
There was but one incident which occurred, and that sol- 
itary and mehancholy result the muse of history now 
proceeds to record, for she would not have posterity stop 
here and conclude that nothing resulted from a forced 
march of forty miles to Moorefield and forty back, with 
two regiments of cavalry, a full battery of artillery, and 
five thousand picked infantry. (I was one of the latter^ 
and you will see I was picked worse than any chicken 
before this solemn recital closes 1) We went trudging 
along, knee-deep in snow, carrying great big knapsacks 
and forty rounds of cartridges in each cartridge-box, 
and that at almost a double-quick. The grotesque 
spectacle Avas only relieved from utter and most con- 
vulsively laughable absurdity, a veritable repetition of the 
ancient charge of the windmills made by the Knight of 
La iNIancha himself, an ancestor, as I have often been told, 
of the general who planned this tremendous campaign, 
we should have all rolled in the snow, filled our mouths 
full of it, choked, and died laughing, had it not been for 
one splendid knightly figure, mounted on a black charger, 
and dashing on before the glorious, gallant Mulligan, in 
his ffreen shtrt-sleeves — for he disdained to Avear a uni- 
form — as kingly a man as ever rode at the head of an 
army, simply obeying the orders of some fool. 

I found it monotonous to march with the rest in the 
road, and so deployeii into the fields as a skirmisher for 
chickens. A goodly number of loyal spirits followed 
me, and oii we went, marching on a line parallel to the 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 89 

army for many a weary mile — but no chicken. Cabin 
after cabin was passed, but the keenest and most search- 
ing investigation I couhl bestow, Avith all my vast store 
of experiences on the subject, failed to disclose a chicken. 
On, on we went. It was late in the afternoon. We had 
actually Avadded, and waddled, and walked, run, stumbled, 
and shambled over streams, along mountain slopes, up 
hill and along ravines, full twenty miles, but not a 
chicken Avas yet discovered by any of us. 

I grew desperate. I struck out further into the coun- 
try, and fancied I was alone. Alas ! how often the crim- 
inal deems that no eye sees him, as he presses on, intent 
only on the commission of desperate deeds, when, in 
sober truth, the two great eyes of justice, all unban- 
daged, are fixed upon him, and her swift feet are flying 
at his very heels, while her nimble fingers are ready to 
pick his pockets legally ! And so it was Avith me. Soon 
I saw a little cabin down in a ravine beloAv, and on this 
I marched with all speed and rapidity, and Avithout fear, 
except that it might be chickenless, always a terrible 
thought to me. As I passed around the corner of the 
Avretchcd hut, with its chimney on the outside, as such 
habitations are constructed, imagine, if you can, my sur- 
prise and gratification on seeing the head of a live hen 
protruding from a coop on the angle of the chimney and 
hut. A little dog ran out and barked, but not before I 
had seized the hen, put her, squalling for dear life, under 
ray old blue overcoat, and was off at a run. Two old 
Avomen came out Avith their night-caps on, raised their 
glasses, and gave a scream like a pair of demented loco- 
motives. Their scream was a Avail of terror that, I 



90 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

doubt not, eciioos among those mountains yet. But I 
ran on. I was drilling and practicing for retreat — a 
hundred or more of -which my memoirs will record be- 
fore my charcoal gives out. I had a hen. Heaven Avas 
won. I had gained a prize that at that moment I should 
not have exchanged for a full membership in the French 
Academy of Science or a Harvard degree of LL.D. On 
I went, over fences and ditches, toward our army. But, 
on looking back, hang me if those two old termagants 
were not following me, screaming like mad, yelling, as 
Lord Ullin cried for his daughter : " Darn you, bring 
back that ar hen. Oo ! Oo ! Wliooh — oooo ! " I be- 
lieve that was what Mr. Ullin said. Surrender that hen ! 
No, never ; and so, with increased speed, accelerated by 
a wholesome fear of the two old she-devils, one armed 
with a bio; Ion fir-handled fire shovel and the other with a 
hand-spike, on I ran, until I was in hearing distance of 
the head of our passing columns. Like a flash, an 
officer, mounted on a good horse, came galloping down 
upon me, and ordered me to halt. This order I obeyed. 
Ho drew his sword violently on me, and swore a terrible 
oath that he would cleave my thick skull in twain if I 
did not release the chicken which the old Amazons, with 
their stentorian voices, had told him I had stolen. With 
downcast countenance, I released the hen. She gave a 
squawk, and a flop of rejoicing, and darted away toward 
the brush. In a moment, more than forty men were after 
her, for the great man on horseback, now in his natural 
element, and carried away by his first and last great 
military movement, in delivering a hen from captivity 
and death, ordered the boys to catch the old women's 
hen. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 91 

She was caught, delivered with great pomp to the old 
creatures, and they knelt, with the hen in their mutual 
arms, at the feet of the oiScer's horse, and prayed " God 
to hless him." Vain enough before, this fulsome adula- 
tion and homage made him ten times more vain, and, 
raising his hat to the beldames and bowing grandly, he 
put spurs to his horse and dashed oif to where I was, as 
he supposed, to arrest me. But, during the splendid 
ceremony, I had quietly dropped my overcoat (knowing 
I could easily steal another that night), and quickly 
throwing my cap in my knapsack, that I had as quickly 
unslung for the purpose, snatched out and donned an old 
slouch hat, in which even Dave Sheppard himself would 
not have recognized me. He looked through the ranks, 
but didn't recognize me muchly. That officer is looking 
for me yet! I passed him where he was breaking stone 
on a thirty days' contract for the state since, but he did 
not speak to me, even then ! But my hen Avas gone. 
Not far. A fellow belonging to our mess had grabbed 
her from the old pair the m.oment the officer had disap- 
peared, and he and I made merry over that chicken at a 
private banquet of our own, away out in the woods near 
Burlington, where we camped that night. This was the 
great event of that memorable m;irch, and whenever 
hereafter it is named, that hen alone will be remem- 
bered. 



V. — The First Death in the One Hundred, and 
Sixteenth Ohio. 

Jim Stoneking was a tall, broad-chested, robust young 
man, as he marched out with us to the war for the flag. 



92 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

I remember well that he was by common consent re- 
gardeil as the strongest and most active man in the en- 
tire One Hundred and Sixteenth Ohio ; a concession, 
mind you, not made in those days until demonstrated 
fully after many a vigorous contest of a friendly, but 
nevertheless earnest and determined, character. The 
championship was not yielded to the first one who came 
along to claim it without putting it to the proof. 

Jim was as modest as he was strong and athletic, and 
never was known to boast of his strength. He was of 
gigantic build, but in his manners gentle and kind as a 
girl. He was in our mess, and we were all proud of Jim. 
He had no enemies there or anywhere that I ever knew 
of. Handsome, intelligent, generous to a fault, as strong 
in his affections as he was in his muscles, he might have 
stood model for the god of war, or Hercules stripped for 
his seven labors, or for Apollo tuning his lyre. He con- 
stantly Avore a smile, and his well-chiseled features were 
always radiant with the resplendent light of youth and 
manly beauty. I never savf his peer before or since. 
With a thousand such picked men — if, indeed, the conti- 
nent might have yielded so many of such magnificent 
proportions and warlike vigor — Mr. Seward's ninety 
days' prophecy, perhaps, might have been fulfilled. In 
the midst of so many pale and attenuated school boys, 
and green and half-grown striplings, who later were to 
develop into robust veterans, Jim Stoneking passed for a 
prodigy of every military equipment physically and men- 
tally — a born leader and master among men. He Avas 
only nineteen, and carried a musket yet; but in the 
bloom of his enlistment, and the prestige of his striking 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 93 

personal presence, he gave promise of official distinction 
ere the war should close. 

We Avere in camp at New Creek, and had been mus- 
tered in then hut three months. We were drilling yet, 
in squads, in the regiment, and by brigades, going 
through the tedious and toilsome preliminary school of 
arms, and had never yet smelt gunpowder or even seen a 
rebel. The weary days of camp life slowly rolled away. 
We longed for the day when we might be ready for the 
field and get into active service. Jim was assiduous in 
his study and practice of all that is taught in the 
Manual of Arms and the School of the Soldier, and his 
musket was but a plaything in his hands, which he could 
handle with all the skill and grace and ease of the 
trained veteran of many battles. But this idle, monot- 
onous camp life was not to his taste. He longed for 
something more than the mimic charge on imaginary 
foes, something more inspiring than the merry reveille 
or the solemn taps. And so the weary days of discip- 
line — all too few, as we found later on — Avore away, and 
the autumn leaves were falling. One day Jim said to 
me : " I hate this schoolboy life. I did not enlist to 
practice the manual of arms forever, but to fight the 
enemies of the flag. I long for the day when we shall 
meet the foe in deadly battle. I can not bear this much 
longer. I am sick of it. I know our superior ofiicers 
are right in insisting that we shall be well drilled and 
disciplined before we go to the field; but look at the 
three months' men, who are famous already and have 
fought many hard battles, yet no longer in the service 
than we have been. I know we are ready, and for my 



94 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

part, I Avant to see if I can stand fire coolly and do my 
duty like a man, don't you ?" 

Jim was right, and our officers agreed Avith him then, 
thou2rh we knew nothino; of it. Even while ho was utter- 
ing his complaint and longing for the real contest, march- 
ing orders were preparing in Washington, and ten days 
later the army moved to the scene of conflict. But Jim 
Stoncking was not with us. He was striken with typhoid 
fever, sank rapidly away, and died within a week. 

He Avas the first man in the One Hundred and Six- 
teenth Ohio Volunteer Infantry to die — the first dead 
soldier ray eyes ever beheld ! As his nohle form wasted 
quickly away, and at last lay stark in death, then amidst 
the playmates of his youth, we who survived mourned 
him Avitli a bitterness of bereavement and regret that I 
should in vain try to describe. 0, Avhat a wreck of ' 
youthful hopes ! 0, what a calamity of woe ! 0, Avhat - 
ruin of heroic ambition and manly strength lay silent 
and motionless there in that rough pine box, buried 
under the shadoAvs of the motionless mountains noAV, and 
covered Avith the pitiless snoAvs of winter. As I look 
back noAV at the interval of a quarter of a century to 
that humble mound, and then recall the stalwart form of 
my noble friend, and remember the hopes and dreams of 
ambition that ho cherished, so ruthlessly ruined by the 
hand of a most untimely and inglorious death, my eyes 
asxain SAvim in tears. If Jim Stonckin"; could have 
fallen with Reese Williams, and Avith him gathered up 
the folds of the flag in his dying grasp, and kissed them 
Avith his expiring breath on a field of battle and victory, 
I knoAV he Avould have sunk to rest Avithout a single sigh 
or regret. But it Avas not to be so. And yet Avhy not I 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 95 

never sliall know. But in the record of the brave and 
true who devoted their lives for the flag, let us never 
forget those humbler heroes "who, like Jim Stoneking, 
felt death's destroying wound, not in the heat of battle, 
but in the quiet hospital of agony. 

Henry T. Johnson was our color-bearer after Reese 
Williams was shot down at Piedmont. The colors,, 
stained with the blood — God, no ! not stained, but 
sanctified, with the blood fresh from the pure and gallant 
heart of the standard-bearer, had dropped almost to the 
ground, but the icy fingers of that brave young hero 
closed in a grip of patriotic death about the flagstaff still 
when Henry T. Johnson sprang forward, seized the stafi" 
in his strong hands, and carried it on in the thickest of 
the fight. Shells were exploding and bullets raining 
thickly around him, but on he went, in advance of the 
charging columns who followed close in lines of flashing 
muskets and glittering bayonets. 

It was no holiday sport. It was no parade rest. It 
was no sport or pastime now. The boys who had yester- 
day been so frolicsome and gay, now wo]-e the serious 
aspect of thoughtful and determined veterans, every 
man resolved to conquer on that field or leave his body 
there cold and bloody in death. 

The battle of Piedmont under Hunter was short, hot, 
and one of the most brilliant victories of the war. 
Rebel lead flew through the flag, and still it streamed on. 
It was the target of traitors who hated its every stripe 
and star. At every wound the flag received vengeance 
rose in every breast, and then and there took fresh cour- 
age for the deadly fray. I had read of treason and 

traitors and of rebellion, but I never understood it at all 
9 



96 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

until I saw them shoot at that flag. When John A. Dix 
said, " If any man attempts to tear down the American 
flag, shoot hira on the spot," he only gave expression to 
the sentiment that actuated the boys in blue. No Union 
soldier ever felt the blood run hot in his veins and ar- 
teries, and fairly cry for vengeance on the traitors, until 
he saw the rebels fire on that flag. The Avar is over now 
these two and twenty years almost, and yet I dare say 
there is not a city, village, or hamlet in all the North, at 
least, if indeed in the South, now, as I Avould fain be- 
lieve, where any mnn could fire on tliat flag and live 
another minute. I asked Henry T. Johnson but this 
very day Avhat was the uppermost thought in his mind at 
the moment he took up our flag from the dead color- 
bearer at Piedmont, twenty-two years ago and more. 

What do you suppose was his reply ? " Thoughts ! I 
had no thoughts, Jim, not one. I had the flag in my 
hands. Who could think there with that old banner 
wavino; over him in the center of the l)attle? But I had 
feelings, Jim, no thoughts, not a single one. I was 
sorry for poor Reese. I was angry as h — 1 at tlic men 
who shot him down, but ten times more so at the damna- 
ble traitors who fired on our flag and shot it to tatters 
with their guns of treason. Jim Dalzell, before God, I 
tell you now I would send them all to hell for it yet if it 
were in my power. Talk of unpardonable sins — firing 
on that flag must not, shall not, ])0 fo)-givon in this world 
nor the next, let sentimentalists and i\Iug\vumps who 
Avere not where T stood say wliat they may." 

Henry T. Johnson was wounded badly ; had an arm 
shattered before that battle ended, but on he went, and 
refused to yield his flag to any one. That arm hangs 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 1)7 

limp and helpless by his side nOAV, but let us say of him 
as the Spartan mother of her wounded son : " Every 
time he looks at the wound, it will make him remember, 
his valor with pride." Though he had but one sound 
hand, he held it aloft at Appomattox by divine right of 
heroism on many a fiery field. 

I shall never forget that first day he cari'ied it at Pied- 
mont. I was alarmed at his reckless daring — for a thou- 
sand guns were leveled at that flag and its heroic bearer. 
He rushed on with his face to the foe with an utter 
abandonment of fear which bespoke but little less than a 
madman. Under a galling fire once our line reeled, 
staggered, and almost broke and fled, but Johnson pushed 
on until Colonel Wildes, as brave and true a man as ever 
commanded a regiment, feared color-bearer and flag both 
should fall into the enemy's hands. Waving his sword 
on his horse, the Colonel called to Henry, " Come back 
to the regiment 1 " I see Johnson's transfigured face 
yet with the battle-scared and riddled banner streaming 
over his bare head, and the blood pouring down his blouse 
sleeve and over his pantaloons, as he yelled back with 
rage in every fine feature of his beardless,*blood-stained, 
and begrimed face, "Bring your regiment to the colors. 

Colonel Wildes, for I'll be if this flag retreats 

v^hile I carry it," and he flourished the flag in a tempest 
of bullets. 

Every man saw, though few heard the brave response 
in the thunder of the conflict. In a flash Colonel Wildes 
dashed forward on his coal-black steed, and we followed 
with a yell. The rebels fell back, the day was ours, and 
the old flag, the only flag that can wave on this side of 



98 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

the Atlantic, did it all, and won new glories there that 
shall shine forever in its eternal stars. 



VI. — How THE Private and Ben Tilden Enjoyed a 
Buggy Ride. 

I enlisted as a private soldier in Company 11, One 
Hundred and Sixteenth Ohio Infantry, and expected to 
do my marching on foot, of course ; but even the proud- 
est private in the world will sometimes condescend to 
ride a horse, a mule, or even a buggy. This is my apology 
for the exploit I am about to relate. I neglected to take 
my buggy with me to Avar, but we all got buggy enough 
before long. I had to trust to the chances of war to 
throw one in my way. It would not stand in my way 
long. We had marched about from Clarksburir, Buck- 
hannon, the chief mountain region, to Bomncy and 
Moorefield, and every-wherc throughout West Virginia, 
over its snowy ranges of mountains, up and down its 
valleys, the whole winter of 1862-G3. 

I was tired of following those fool generals around for 
no wise purpose in the world that I could see with my 
naked eyes, and so I determined to lead the expedition 
myself, and have some fun at the risk of a court-martial 
and the Rip-Raps, or Dry Tortugas. We had been 
marching, marching constantly for Aveeks, and never saAV 
a rebel of the male gender, except some old chaps about 
as old as old Mcthusalch, Avho, Avith their specks on, 
picked off our men occasionally in the night, and sat 
grunting Avith affected servility, in the chimney corner at 
home all day long. 

A West Virginian never dies, never groAvs too old to 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. lil» 

bushwhaclv. In the spring of 1863, we sot off on a forced 
march from Romncj to " Winchestci'town," and tliis is 
how I achieved the distinction of which I am about to 
inform a gaping and admiring worhl. 

Ben Tiklen, my ohl messmate and companion in all 
manner of deviltry, was a thirsty soul. lie always 
carried more canteens than any other man in the regi- 
ment. They were thirsty, too, and as the hare pants for 
the water brook, they did not. They panted with Ben 
for apple-jack. So did I, if the truth of history must 
at this late day blazon the annals of my country. 

So that morning Ben and I started out alone, a mile 
or two in advance of the army, in search of the delicious 
apple-jack, chickens, corn-bread, or other prosaic ol)jects 
of sense. We had grown weary of water and hardtack. 
It was only sheer luck that we both did not fall a prey 
to the rebels that day, as Ave marched along hastily far 
in advance of Milroy's great army. The only explana- 
tion that 1 ever could find for our miraculous escape was 
that there were no rebels there. 

This would often explain a great many of the hair- 
breadth escapes so graphically delineated in the nniza- 
zines and the dime novels. But it would spoil the sym- 
metry and attraction of the Munchausen yarns, and so 
is wisely left out. About noon we invaded a rickety 
old hut where an old woman and a few young negroes 
lived, and found good store of solids and liquids, and re- 
sumed our march Avith cuisine and canteen much re- 
plenished. A few draughts from the same canteen and 
a few more from the other canteen too, and we were 
merry as larks, brave as a pair of uncaged lions, and 



100 ^ MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

ready for deeds of daring that -would make your liair 
stand on end to think of for a moment. 

As we sauntered along, not caring if it snowed oats, 
we saw an old, one-eyed, hip-shot horse hitched by the 
roadside to a dilapidated buggy of the G. Washington 
era. Said I, " Ben, let's take a buggy ride." No sooner 
said than done, so quickly did one soldier respond to the 
wildest suggestion of another. Indeed, if I had sug- 
gested to Ben to eat the old nag he would have tried it, 
or choked on the harness. 

In we jumped, reined the old Rosinante around into 
road, and off we Avent, tearing over the road, on " to 
Winchester, twenty miles away." Tlie horse heaved and 
groaned, limped and stumbled, but we plied the whip, 
and as he -warmed up he made better time. Whoop, hur- 
rah, away we go ! A merrier, jollier pair of young 
scapegraces never made the wild woods of Virginia ring 
with such cheers, laughter, and songs before. Wasn't 
this glorious ? We despised foot soldiers. We wished 
we had enlisted in buggies. We had lost so much val- 
uable time hoofing it in the mud, that we determined 
now to make up for it all in a ride that should go down 
to history, hand in hand with the wildest one ever ac- 
complished by the Knight of La Mancha himself. Before 
this, we had thought three years a long term to serve in 
the army. Now, we began to discuss the brevity of the 
time until we must be mustered out of the army — or the 
buggy. The vehicle creaked and clashed Avith age, and 
surged and jolted, and throated to go to pieces, like the 
Confederacy. But, like the Confederacy, its time had 
not come yet. As the horse warmed up with the apple- 
jack and the whip which Ben constantly applied, as I 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 101 

drove like Jehu, he became nimble and fleet of foot, and 
whirled us along, I know not how many knots an hour. 
Still on we vfent. We saw nobody except a few fright- 
ened women and grinning negroes staring at us from the 
cabins along the road, at long intervals. From the noise 
the antiquated buggy made, and the din we raised our- 
selves, they evidently thought us crazy — possibly two 
armies were coming upon them to destroy tliem. 

I said Ben applied the applejack and the whip. He 
applied only one of those to the horse, the other he ap- 
plied to himself. Gentle reader, thou knowcst which the 
poor horse got, and which Ben and I ! 

But, alas, all tilings, even buggy rides in the army, 
end all too soon, and so must this John Gilpin chase and 
this military memoir of mine. 

Long before we reached Winchester we hoard tlie clat- 
ter of horses' hoofs, " nearer, clearer, deadlier '' still, 
the clank of sabers, and the wild shouts of the cavalry 
in pursuit of us. We had been reported to the general, 
and a body of cavalry were in pursuit of us. Rounding 
a bend in the road, we quietly dropped out of the buggy, 
and let the horse run on with it. 

Just across the road, and in plain view, was an old- 
fashioned Virginia brick mansion. Concealing ourselves 
until tlie cavalry detachment galloped by in pursuit of 
the buggy, we quietly slipped over to the house, awaiting 
developments to cover up our identity and prevent de 
tection We knew that, as soon as the infantry came 
lip, crowds of bummers would break ranks and rush for 
the house in great numbers for forage. We had not to 
wait long. In a few minutes in they came like bees ; no 
one saw us, each was so intent ransacking cellar, garret, 



102 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

and cupboard, for any thing and every thing eatable, 
that no one took any account of us. We mingled with 
tliem, joined them in ransacking the house with loud 
shouts as any one in the general confusion, and Avhen the 
house was completely looted, left with the rest and re- 
turned to the ranks, lookino- as innocent and non-com- 
mittal as the general Avho had marched us all over 
Virginia for nothing. Then it was we heard of tlie ex- 
ploit in the buggy. It was on every lip, and the boys 
were in no good humor over it either. The scouts had 
spied two men in a buggy, evidently rebel officers of 
high rank. They had driven off like mad at the ap- 
proach of the advance guard. That meant business. 
Certes, the rebel army was near. All this was reported 
to General Milroy, who ordered the whole army to ad- 
vance and attack the rebels. And so the entire Union 
army had been double-quicked after us for four miles, 
and were nearly exhausted. We could not but smile as 
we heard all the stories, but never mentioned our con- 
nection with it. It would spoil the general's report to 
Washington then, and a nice article about that gallant 
reconnoissance now. Oh, no ! We listened demurely, 
as if we knew no more about it than the rest. 

VII. — A High Private at Rich Mountain 

Doubtless my readers are all familiar with tlie history 
of Rosecrans' victory on the very summit of Rich Moun- 
tain in 1861, and how an humble guide led him up by a 
circuitous route in the rear of the rebel army, though his- 
tory has utterly failed to transmit even the name of that 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 103 

humble guide, to whom the victory was more justly due 
than to Rosecrans. 

But there was another army led up that long and steep 
mountain side, by the ordinary route, and now for the 
first time posterity is to be furnished with his name. 

It Avas I. 

The results in the two cases were very dissimilar, in- 
deed, and though the struggle on the rugged and stony 
top of that historic acclivity was attended v.ith bloody 
consequences in the former case, yet I hasten to assure 
my sympathetic and gentle reader that in the charge I 
led nothing followed more serious than laughter and 
cheers, the echo of which, it is said, lingers in those 
mountain fastnesses even yet. 

It was a cold, clear morning in the early winter of 
18G2 when Milroy's army broke camp at Buchanan and 
made the famous three days' forced march to Cheat 
Mountain, ending in nothing, for there was not a 
rebel force of the size of one of our companies within 
twenty miles of there, and had not been for months. 

This was some of the strategy of the war concerning 
which you do not read as much noAV as we musket-bearers 
actually Avitnessed from the ranks. It does not read 
pretty in the magazines. It is too like the truth, and 
they mind the old Biblical injunction to " buy the truth 
and sell it not." It is not salable. They keep their 
truth in pickle, and set out the fictitious as more 
palatable to the public. But as these articles run along, 
all written out in charcoal, without the help of maps and 
plans prepared in Washington in 1886 by young men Avho 
were not born at the date of my historic ascent of Rich 



104 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC.. 

Mountain, the reader ■will he apt to conclude before I am 
done that I dabble in the truth by way of variety. 

It is tempting, indeed, and I have half a notion one 
of these days to take a small flag, climb on the top of 
Rich Mountain, and, giving play to imagination, fill it 
"with rebels firing big cannons, have myself capturing six 
or eight cannons that never existed in the smoke of their 
discharge. 

But, alas ! descensus averyii facilis ! It was not can- 
non — it was slapjacks, delicious slapjacks, rolled in but- 
ter and honey, hot from the griddle, and washed down 
with generous potations of West Virginia applejack 
that I captured Rich ^lountain with without the loss of 
a single man or gun, and with no more serious loss than 
that of an appetite that erstwhile hungered for any solid 
or fluid except water. 

Inadvertently I have anticipated the climax of my story, 
for, but for the slapjacks and applejack, this story had 
never seen the light, and this achievement had never 
blazoned the history of our great civil war. 

Lieutenant Spriggs, as thirsty a soul as ever drank 
from the same canteen with me, set out in the gray 
of early morning from our encampment, ten miles west 
of Rich Mountain, and together we wended our weary 
way a mile or two in advance of the army, in search of 
corn-bread, chickens, and mountain dew. Hunger and 
thirst are great virtues in war, and achieve wonderful 
exploits. 

By the kind assistance of a contraband, away beyond 
camp, we found the applejack in copious quantity, 
sampled it in true army style, and then faced the moun- 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 105 

tain with light steps and heroic hearts, making music as wo 
went. 

If the entire army of Lee had been posted on that 
mount, Spriggs and 1 woukl have wallced up and routed 
it, for we were thrice armed with canteens, revolvers, and 
mj grand old musket, which never sat so lightly on 
my shoulder before. After going up a mile or so by 
the circuitous mountain road, we sat down to smoke and 
view the landscape o'er. Bonaparte crossing the Alps 
was not a circumstance to the spectacle we presented, 
and there were two of us — only one of him. 

We could look down, it seemed, on half of the world, 
and as we saw the army below commencing its toilsome 
ascent we could imagine ourselves the two bright par- 
ticular heroes who were destined to end the war and ride 
into the White House on the wave of popularity that 
should roll at our feet as the result of our heroic ex- 
ploits. How small and contemptible that army seemed ! 
We yearned for a million men, and then three hundred 
thousand ; yea, six hundred thousand more. As the 
faint notes of the bugle and the soft strains of the bands 
swept up the mountain sides and saluted our eager ears, 
our hearts fairly danced and throbbed with enthusiasm 
for a moment, until a more practical and realistic sug- 
gestion from our stomachs promptly dispelled the illusion 
and urged us on to find a dinner before the hungry 
horde below should have time to reach it. So on we 
went, shouting, " Excelsior," at every bounding step. 
No hart ever scaled a niountain with steadier or lio;hter 
tread. 

The summit was reached. A lovely cabin stood there, 
all bullet-riddled from the sanguinary conflict of the 



106 MY WAE SKETCHES, ETC. 

year Iseforc. In we go, Avidiout ceremony, and find the 
famil}'', an old Avcatherbeaten crone and her melancholy 
daughter of the mountain, at her elbow eating — how 
shall I express it ? Slapjacks rolled in honey ! The 
gods and goddesses on Olynjpus never feasted as we did 
then. But, hark ! it is the tramp of armed men. I 
should smile. In they rush, and soon the house is full of 
Yanks. The skillet Avas still hot on the hearth, but 
Spriggs had despoiled it of the last of its charms. 
There was no more batter. "VVo Avept like Alexander 
that there Avas no more batter for our battery. [This is a 
feeble attempt at humor for the diversion of the reader 
of this veracious bit of dry military history. I believe 
the harsh outlines of military narrative are sometimes 
softened and subdued, if you please, by a graceful and 
gentle touch of Avit and humor, though most histories of 
the Avar are as destitute of the delicate accompaniment 
as they are of truth. Of the latter they have very lit- 
tle.] We popped out of the house as they Avent in, and 
dodged off into the brush behind the big rocks that 
grcAV up there to the size of a church. We chuckled 
Avith delight and applejack over our adventure. The 
main part of the army Avas still struggling painfully in 
column at close distances up the rugged mountain side. 

I fired my gun ! 

" H — 11 !" shouted my lieutenant close at my side. 
"What did 3-0U do that for? Noav there Avill be h — 1 to 
pay." And there Avas pretty soon. 

At least it looked like it, sounded like it, and smelt 
suspiciously so in the next five minutes. 

I quietly dropped in among the hustling, jostling, mot- 
ley crew of unknown bummers, and looked as innocent 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 107 

as " Mary's little lamb/' " ^Vho fired that gun ?" shouted 
men riirlit and left. No one knew. No one ever kne^v 
or could discover. The boys did not tell on each other, 
and poor Lieutenant Spriggs would have lost his right 
hand, yea more, three canteens of applejack, before he 
would have told. 

Up dashed orderlies and officers, field and staff, blazing 
in new uniforms and mighty shoulder-straps, with swords 
drawn, and the Avhole army on the double-quick at their 
heels, madly rushing, as they sincerely felt, 

" Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell." 

My old colonel (heaven bless him now in his old age 
at Madison, AVis., brave, true Colonel Washburne, of the 
One Hundred and Sixteenth Ohio), with his teeth set and 
his spurs buried in the sides of his foaming old horse, 
rode up, exclaiming loudly : " Show me the d — d fool 
that fired that gun !" 

I did not answer to that name, and he rode on. Soon 
the whole army was on the top of the rocky mountain, 
all talking at once, all swearing and SAveating, and Babel 
itself was a deaf and dumb institution compared to that 
excited and noisy army. Still, whenever I could get a 
chance, I piped in with the rest, " Who fired that gun ?" 
No one could tell me, and so I had my laugh all alone. 

YIII. — Another Story of the Old Flag. 

Milton James Avas a member of the Sixty-second Ohio, 
wdiicli, witli the Sixty-seventh, Avas consolidated with the 
One Hundred and Sixteenth Ohio shortly before the sur- 



108 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

render of Lee, three regiments, having, from first to List, 
on their muster-rolls 4,974 soldiers, ofFicers and men ; 
yet the day the three gallant old battle-scarred regi- 
ments as one charged Fort Gregg, we had present and 
fit for duty, all told, 300 men ! Not one man more. 

Less than 200 of these survived the five days' race 
after Lee, and were able to stand with us at his formal 
surrender. Some idea of the losses of all sorts which 
the veteran regiments sustained in that four years' ter- 
rible struggle may be gathered from a brief statement 
like this ; but when it is added that I saw the Twenty- 
fifth Ohio come out of the battle of Gettysburg Avith 
seven men, and three of these badly wounded, and on 
the morning of Grant's final encounter with Lee, near 
Appomattox Court-house, there were present with us, 
including Milton James, precisely tAventy-four men of 
the gallant Sixty-second Ohio, the reader who Avas not 
Avith us will begin to have some faint and feeble compre- 
hension of the havoc Avrought by the fearful Avar, 

An idea strikes m.e : If every soldier avIio Avas with 
Grant at Appomattox Avould give the actual count of 
men — and all Avho Avere there easily can — in their re- 
spective regimeruts, it Avould correct many gross errors 
in history. 

Sheridan's men, dismounted and contesting every inch 
of ground Avith a ])ravery never excelled before by that 
gallant command, Avcre falling back, Avhen the Second, 
Fifth, Sixth, and T\A'enty-fourth Corps emerged from 
the Avoods and Avent in Avith a yell on the morning of 
Lee's surrender. 

The half has never been told. As General Crook rode 
up he recognized brave old Captain llobert Davidson 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 109 

(no"W of Caldwell, 0.) and his twenty-three men, all that 
was left of Avhat had once hccn a i-cgiment of 1,800 men. 
It was getting hot. The hoys were wading into the dis- 
mayed and surrounded Johnnies. Captain Davidson's 
men had been fiuhtinsr and fallino; all inornins;. The tears 
came to the glorious old Crook's eyes as he said, " Hold, 
boys of the Sixty-second, you liave done your share. 
You need not go in unless you want to. Go where you 
please. Do as you please." Every cap was thrown up, 
and with a cheer the Sixty-second, a mere handful of 
one of the best regiments I ever saw, fell in on the right 
flank of the Sixth Corps, and with a yell joined in the 
final charge — the last charge of the Rebellion, with the 
cold, merciless steel. Milton James was there. He is 
now the American Express agent at Caldwell, Ohio, in 
peace, as in Avar, one of the best of men. When the 
charge was made on Fort Gregg a few days before, Mil- 
ton James was there, then but seventeen years of age, and 
a veteran soldier of thirty-one battles. He had never 
missed a battle or a march that his regiment encoun- 
tered, and carried with him a charmed life, always in 
dan«;erbut never to be harmed. He never was wounded 
or even scratched. When a fearful charge was made 
on Fort Gregg, the One Hundredth New York on the 
left was preparing to advance. It was said that regi- 
ment had once shown the white feather. It was about 
to advance under the terrible fire of the fort. " That 
regiment shall never go ahead of the Sixty-second," 
shouted Milton James, and sprang forward with the tat- 
tered flag i.n Ins hands, and tlio rest followed with a yell. 
A few" feet from the ditch, which was broad and deep, 
the witherino; fire of the fort became too hot for even the 



110 MY AVAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

most desperate men, and the whole column recoiled and 
fell back, but James, Avith the colors, leaped into the 
ditch with only Joseph Willis with him. The leap of 
Curtius was not more reckless. Now Jan.es with the 
few strings, ribbons, and tatters of the old Sixty-second 
banner, and Willis were alone in the ditch, directly under 
the parapet fifteen feet high, and right under the boora- 
imr guns of the fort. The rebels knew it. They dared 
not bend over the fort and fire down on the two devoted 
young heroes, for that would be but to court instant death 
from our sharpshooters. So they began to throw single- 
trees, old muskets, stones, and every missile they could 
reach down after the boys in hope of crushing them. 
They hugged the walls closely and dodged every falling 
object, and it kept them busy. They scrambled about 
in water waist deep, for it had been raining many days, 
and the ditch w\ts half full of v/ater. Still the flag of 
the Sixty-second flew in triumph and derision almost 
within reach of the enemy. The fire was desperate on 
])oth sides, and the chances Avere a thousand to one that 
the two young dare-devils Avould be killed by our own 
shells exploding in the ditch. They fell thick and fast, 
but the poor boys Avere neither hurt nor scared but held 
their ground ! What else could they do ? If they left 
the ditch and started back to reach the Twenty-fourth 
Army Corps, now under the gallant Gibbon, advancing 
in close column at half distance, they Avould fall an easy 
prey to the rebel sharpshooters, once they were out of 
cover of the fort. A shout rang along the line of blue ; 
the Twenty-fourth Corps advanced to double-quick on 
the blazing parapets of Fort Gregg. Their losses as 
they swept across the open field up to the fort were 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. Ill 

fearful. As they rushed into the ditch with fixed bayo- 
nets a new danger menaced the two boys. They had 
hard work to make the first Avho leaped into the ditch 
-understand who they were, for the smoke was dense, and 
they could not see the flag. Fortunately, just in time to 
save their lives, tliey convinced their friends Avho they 
were, and up they all started, climbing the parapet, as 
I have before tried to describe in a former letter. Cap- 
tain Davidson, with that Thompson! whom I mention else- 
where, clambered up the steep walls on the shoulders of 
their men. As Davidson reached the top he stuck his 
sword to the hilt in the eartliAVork, and by the handle 
was raising himself up when the rebels began to batter 
his hands with their muskets, and though they succeeded 
in crippling him for life, he held on, drew his body to 
the top, and sword in hand leaped into the fort ! He is 
pensioned and was promoted for it. So there can be no 
dispute of this — nor can there be of any fact I give — for 
I was there and saw it all ! I don't care what books may 
say, I know better than they do who wrote them. They 
have their papers based largely upon hearsay — I base 
mine upon what my eyes and those of a thousand others 
saw there and then. Poor Willis ascended the human 
ladder only to receive his death shot at the top. But 
Avhere was Milt James ? Right beside his noble captain 
now in command of Avhat Avas left of the Spartan frag- 
ment of the Sixty-second Ohio, of course, for where else 
should the flag be ? Henry T. Johnson, with our flag, 
was there, shattered arm and all. As James climbed 
upon the parapet, a half-dozen rebels reached for his flag 
and snatched it out of his hands. The brave boy rose 

to his full hei2;ht, and though a wall of cold steel con- 
10'^ 



112 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

fronted him, ho jumped down ten feet right among the 
rebels and seized his beloved banner. " I should have 
jumped into hell after that flag without hesitating," said 
he to me to-day. Joe Jerls, Captain Davidson, and a 
dozen more of our boys rushed in and soon James stood 
there while the most fearful hand to hand fight Grant 
ever saw — so say his memoirs — went on, and the Sixty- 
second's flag floated over the scene of carnacre and con- 
fusion, and James was happy, unharmed, unscathed, un- 
wounded, and unfrightened as he Avill ever be in heaven 
where before long he is going, as he held it up and 
waved its blood-stained tatters in the storm of battle 
once more. The day was ours ! The flag once more 
had won the battle ! 



IX. — ITow THE Valorous Private Stampeded One 
Army and Led Another. 

The serious and serio-comic sides of the war for tlie 
Union have been written all to tatters with " damnable 
iteration," as one said of Lord Brougham's speeches. 
Yet, as another said, " much remains to be said on every 
great subject" without repetition. ILstory has been 
written and repeated o'er and o'er, a thousand times 
o'er, in the vain effort to reproduce the great civil war 
on j)apcr for tlie delectation of a generation that never 
heard the gun of Sumter echoing round the world. After 
so much had been said, and so well said, it Avas a long 
time before I concluded to take up my pen and sketch 
that war roughly in charcoal. My heart sank within me 
in the presence of Grant's memoirs, Sherman's memoirs, 
and Badeau's thrilling romances. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 113 

But with Montesquieu, reciting tlie words of Corregio, 
as lie contemplated tlie master-pieces of the great artists, 
I exclaimed, "I, also, am a painter," and so flinging my 
modesty to the winds, I began my contributions to 
history, of which this is neither the first nor the worst. 
Did you ever see a stampede? Not a stampede like that 
of Bull Run, where there was good cause for it in rat- 
tling musketry, fierce rebel yells, black-horse cavalry, 
and all that "■thunder in the index" with which the 
chivalry of the South set out to eat up "the ragged and 
cowardly Yankees." No, not at all that sort of aifair, but 
a stampede — I mean without cause, reason, or sense ; 
causeless as a final cause, and senseless as a political 
speech — that is the sort of stampede I allude to, a regu- 
lar skedaddle for nothing. Didn't ever see one? Well, 
here is one of that sort which I caused myself. You 
must have certain conditions before you can have a fire — 
fuel and combustion, for instance — and so of stampedes. 
The nerves of the men must be unstrung, a general feeling 
of weakness and helplessness in the presence of a superior 
foe must exist, or you can't stampede or skedaddle an 
army ; and the danger, real or apparent, it makes no dif- 
ference which, must descend suddenly and unexpectedly, 
like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, like a meteor shoot- 
ing down at noonday. Precisely such were the condi- 
tions Avith which Milroy's brave little array of 7,000 men 
were surrounded on the clear, frosty night of January 1, 
1863, near Petersburg, W. Va. (not old Petersburg). 
We had had our first fight at Moorefield the day before, 
a sharp little affair with Jones' cavalry, that ended in 
nothing but a big scare and a long retreat through the 



114 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

mountains the coldest night that I was ever out of doors. 
We hastily piled our stuff, quartermaster's and commis- 
sary stores, in the brick church at Petersburg, and set it 
on fire and ran off in the blaze. This was strategy. 

Our wagon train — you remember every regiment had 
ten wagons in those fool days — started off, and we with 
it, mules, men, and horses, possessed of a horrible fear, 
without reason or sense. Our generals saw to it that 
our knapsacks were empty. We had not tasted ham all 
winter, yet we burnt up forty wagon loads of hams and 
shoulders, and went off on this wild goose chase toward 
Burlington and Cedar Creek, forty miles, freezing, hun- 
gry, and without a bit of bread or meat. So the orders 
ran ! So the war was conducted for years, as if the idiot 
asylums of the whole land had been robbed to get our 
commanders. 

After going thus pell-mell ten miles our forces halted, 
for what reason I never learned, about 10 o'clock that 
night in a narrow ravine in the mountains, parked the 
wagons, built our fires, and sat down around them like a 
pack of fools, hungry and with half-frozen feet. It was 
a sight for your faithful historian. But he was not going 
to sit there long, you bet. A bright idea struck me. I 
got a couple of old chums to join me, and we soon had 
mounted three stolen horses, and were scampering away 
over the light snow toward a farm-house, a mile or two 
away. We took three or four canteens with us, and as 
we had been there before we knew where to go. Dis- 
mounting at the gate, we were soon in the old Virginia 
mansion, sitting by a great fire talking with the rebel 
girls. Applejack, yes, it was, that filled our canteens, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC, 115 

and corn-bread our haversacks, and after an hour's chat, 
and paying our bill, we remounted to ride back. 

The stars fairly glittered in the cold blue vault above, 
and the snoAV sparkled like diamonds about us as the 
horses galloped over it. It was not deep, a mere rift of snow, 
dry and light as feathers and the flying hoofs rattled on 
the hard frozen road like volleys of pistols. A merrier 
set never returned to camp, as cheering and singing, and 
lauirhino; we rode back that niglit. As we drew near the 
place were we supposed the camp was when we left, 
there was a sharp curve in the road, and as we rounded 
it on the gallop, digging the spurs into our horses, and 
cheering like Comanches, suddenly, quick as thought, 
we saw a line of men six rods in front, muskets 
aimed, and the clear beams of the stars shining on ev- 
ery barrel. Fourteen men ready to fire. "Halt!" 
cried one, but we could not stop. Flash, bang, went ev- 
ery barrel, and so close that the balls went over our 
heads, and the smoke of the discharge into our eyes, be- 
fore we could turn our horses in their mad career ; but 
in a jiffy we reined them about and were on the re- 
treat. Our camp had been captured. We had been 
fired upon by rebels, of course ; what else could it be, 
and so we retreated for all there was in it, but without 
the loss of a single canteen, and not one of us wounded. 
As we rushed along like Jehus, time came for second 
thought. We could hear shouts in all directions, like 
bedlam let loose. Wagons drawn by mules, and with- 
out drivers, came rushing madly behind us, and soon we 
were forced to take to the woods to avoid being run 
over. Pandemonium reigned. Guns went off in every 
direction, and the shouting continued from all points of 



116 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

tiic compass. After a liastj consultation, as we galloped 
aloiii.'; tlivou^h tlio brusli, "\ve all burst out laugliiuir tO' 
gcther as the true situation at length dawned upon us. 
It "was our own men and not rebcLs who had fired on us. 
The army had broken camp while we were off on our 
frolic, and resumed its march without our knowledge, 
and we had been fired upon by the advance-guard of 
our own ai'iny. So, as soon as we reached this conclu- 
sion, we dismounted on a high bluff overlooking the 
road, and, holding our horses' reins, sat down in a coun- 
cil of war, as nniny a great general has done, to con- 
template the disaster that we had so innocently precip- 
itated upon an army frightened out of its 'nits. We en- 
joyed the racket hugely. Teams came thundering along, 
banii-inn; wauron ao-ainst wagon, and riderless liorses rushed 
by, but no men ; they had taken to the woods at the first 
fire. Reader, would you believe that these were the 
very men who but a little more than a year and a half 
after that scaled the heights of Cedar Creek, and gained 
the greatest and grandest victory for the Union army 
accoruplished during the Avar? But a year and a half 
later they did that, not under incompetents, but under 

gallant Phil. Sheridan. 

K, ;l; :l^ ^l-- >f: * 

But we had not long to wait. Soon along came a de- 
tachment of the brave and dashing First Virginia Cav- 
alry. The foremost man faiily raised in his saddle as 
he spied us three woe-begorie, panic-stricken fellows 
sitting on the cold top-rail of that fence in the edge of 
the woods. lie leveled his carbine, but I shouted before 
he could fire : "Don't shoot your own men; we belong 
to Milroy." lie took down his piece, and began to 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 117 

laugh, and swear. " I knowed it all the time. It was our 
own d — d fools that caused all this racket. Why, they 
said that lo,000 rebel cavalry dashed into our camp, 
and killed all the vanguard but that one poor devil that 
got his leg broke by a panic-stricken mule, and set us 
on your trail. We arrest you on the spot." Glad to be 
arrested, we crouched back humbly onto our nngs, and 
fell in between two files of cavalry to be marched l)!ick 
to head-quarters. 

We marched back in solemn procession like tliree 
mounted culprits going back to be shot by a drum-head 
court-martial. We knew what we would catch. We let 
go of all hope, every thing but our canteens. They stood 
us in good hand. We lavished our hospitality on our 
captors, and pressed them to drink from the same can- 
teen. There was probably not a man in the crowd over 
twenty-one years of age, most of us eighteen. So you 
can imagine how generous they soon became. In five 
minutes they were all so bamboozled with the good old 
applejack that tlicy vfere hugging us on our horses, and 
singing, " We won't (hie) go home till (hie) morning 
(hie)." It was grand strategy. Those Avere days of 
strategy, and the generals didn't have all of the strategy 
to themselves. 

Before avc luid gone a quarter of a mile we came across 
a sutler wagon that had been upset, cheese, tobacco, ci- 
gars, bologiia-sausage, ciuined fruits, and all scattered 
about. We dismounted to gather things up, the horses 
got away somehow, and we, too, and, mingling with the 
crowd of poor frightened creatures now, no one ever 
knew who it was caused all the devilment until this ap- 
peared. 



118 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 



X. — The Capture of Fort GREoa. 

I had heard of many an ancient river, from Alph, the 
sacred, to the dusky torrent of Styx, hut to me the Ap- 
pomattox River was a stream wholly unknoAvn until, 
in the wake of Sheridan's magnificent cavalry, with the 
Twenty-fourth Army Corps, I crossed it on the night of 
March 26, 1865, in the rain and mud. From along the 
swamps of the Chickahominy to the west side of the 
James and across the Appomattox, we had marched 
under continuous fire. Wading through swamps, half 
starved, harassed by the desperate enemy, now fighting 
in his last ditch, day and night without rest or sleep, on 
we went, little dreaming as we crossed the ignoble and 
sluggish Appomattox, that its tepid waters should soon 
be resplendent with a victory that should class it with 
immortal rivers, and catalogue it for eternity with the 
Euphrates, the Granicus, and the Delaware. It runs 
through and alono; bluffs covered at intervals with small 
trees; while back of it, and west as far as the eye could 
reach the country was clear, level, and open. It is white 
oak timber land, and stunted shrubs of that species grew 
like vegetation, gnarled, knotted, ugly, and possessed of 
the devil, along its banks. We were south-west of Pe- 
tersburg, and near Hatcher's Eun. Ours was the second 
division, commanded by General Turner, as gallant an 
officer as ever led a charge. All this on the Appomat- 
tox River ; and yet who ever heard or read about the 
Appomattox River before? 

Oh, what a sweep the Union line made from the Ap- 
pomattox west, away to the north beyond Petersburg, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 119 

thirty miles or more, and fire along the line by Jay and 
night. To our right was the Sixth Corps ; north and 
Avest of us were the Second and Fifth, with Sheridan's 
cavalry to the east of that, a half moon, inclosing to that 
extent the doomed city of Petersburg. Clouds of smoke 
by day, flashes of fire by niglit, the earth trembling with 
the mighty final contest. I have never felt large, but I 
never felt my individual insignificance more than in this 
titanic contest. To me, with little stretch of the imagina- 
tion, it seemed all the world was in arms and Armaged- 
don was before me in all its glory and terror. One man 
was a mere speck on a hori:;on of gray and blue like 
that. It was my humble task merely to wield the ignoble 
pen in that final struggle, while the very table on which 
I wrote rocked in the tremendous concussion of mighty 
cannon, and the tremendous messengers of death fre- 
quently fell near our tent, wherever we pitched it, by 
day or night. Rest tliere was none for man or dumb 
beast. 

On the 28th — so runs my diary — we moved to the ex- 
treme left of the rebel line, at Hatcher's Run, soon to 
turn crimson with some of the best blood America ever 
shed. 

We were under heavy artillery fire at close range, and 

cutting timber as we could, advanced our lines at night 

under cover of it carried forward. The boys would push 

it ahead at night, and skip over lightly Avith spades and 

shovels, and creep and dig up as best they could on the 

rebel works. The young pines six inches in diameter 

and less were cut off, and looked like masts. It was a 

swampy place, and our progress was slow under the gall- 

ing fire of the enemy, which we returned with interest. 
11 ^ 



120 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

Corduroy roads were made, and our artillery drawn for- 
ward until, by its magnificent management on the night 
of the 29th, the enemy's batteries were at last silenced 
forever at Hatcher's Run. 

Over and through their chevan.r de frlse — and I never 
saw such a network of timber and iron before or since, 
it seemed impassable — yet on went our pioneers with 
their axes, under the brave Captain Jim Mann, of my 
regiment, cutting it away, while General Turner, with 
our corps (the Twenty-fourth) massed in close column, 
half distance, by regiments, advanced with a yell, and 
charged the works, when up went their white flag just as 
the day dawned, and Hatcher's Run was ours. The One 
Hundred and Twenty-third Ohio took charge, while we 
swept on. It had rained for three days and nights 
steadily, but the morning of the 30th the sun rose clear, 
as if it rejoiced with us in our great victory. 

Fort Gregg Avas before us, with its frowning parapet, 
fifteen feet high, hitherto unapproached by any foe ex- 
cept to be liurlcd back in disaster and dismay. On Sun- 
day, April 2, we moved to the right of the Sixth Corps, 
and assaulted Fort Gregg. Unlike that at Hatcher's 
Run, here we had a clear field. Our column advanced 
in splendid order under a raking fire, not only from Forf 
Gregg itself, but from all the earth-Avorks of the rebels, 
clear along from the Appomattox to the north of Peters- 
burg. Here occurred the most desperate fighting that 
Avas seen at any time under Grant in the East. So he 
says in his Memoirs. The contest did not last fifty min- 
utes. In a tempest of grape and canister our lieroes 
pushed forAvard, firing and cheering as they Avent, until 
they reached the deep ditch under the Avails ; but hoAV to 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 121 

get over them, that yvaa the question. A moment's 
pause, and Corporal F. C. Thompson, ^vith thirteen other 
soldiers whose names history will cherish forever, clam- 
bered up the parapet. Almost at the top one was shot 
down and fell back into the ditch, Thompson was struck 
with a musket and fell, too, Avith several ribs broken, bu^ 
in a moment climbed on a comrade's shoulder and was up 
again, fighting on the parapet against fearful odds. 
Close beside him were Clay Mountens and Joe Smith, of 
my company, until Clay's foot was shot off, and Joe shot 
clear through the neck, and both tumbled back into the 
ditch. Comrade on comrade's shoulders, up they climbed, 
fighting like demons. Some below loaded guns while 
the blood poured from wounds, and up they handed these 
muskets to Thompson and the rest who struggled on the 
parapet above, and soon the whole army swept in, and 
the fort was ours. They used each other as ladders to 
climb to the top, until the day w^as won. Congress voted 
the first gallant thirteen medals of honor for their brav- 
ery, and I saw Thompson's to-day. He is marshal of 
the town of Caldwell. These Avere delivered to the sur- 
vivors in the presence of the army and General Grant. 

It was the greatest feat of personal heroism recorded 
in the history of the war, grandly recognized in an au- 
gust presence. 

I copy the order under which the medal was bestowed : 

War Department, Agjt. General's Office, 
Washington, May 9, 1865. 
Corporal F. C. Thompson, Co. F, 116th Ohio : 

Herewith I inclose a znedal of honor to be presented 



122 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC = 

you under resolution of Congress for distinguished ser- 
vice at Fort Gregg. 

By order of the Secretary of War. 
Very respectfully, 

E. D. TowNSEKD, A. A, G. 

I have never yet seen any account of the transporta- 
tion of the rebel flags at Washington. Here is the true 
story in brief, for my space is limited. 

The surviving ones of the gallant thirteen common 
soldiers at Fort Gregg had the honor of carrying these 
flags to Washington, and F. C, Thompson and Color 
Bearer Van Meter, of my regiment, were two of that 
number. The rebel flags were all placed in one box of 
huge proportions — the colossal coffin of the Lost Cause, 
It was twelve or fourteen feet long, for I remember we 
piled them in, flag staff and banners, closely furled, and 
nailed the lid down tight and strong. On the morning 
of April 28, the following order was promulgated : 

Headquarters One Hundred and Sixteenth "] 
Ohio Volunteer Infantry, V 

Richmond, A^\., April 28, 1865. J 
Adjutant-General, Twenty-fourth Army Corps: 

Sir:— The bearers. Corporal Freeman C. Thompson 
and Private Joseph Van Meter, color bearer, are the en- 
listed men selected from the One Hundred and Sixteenth 
Ohio to accompany General Gibbon, corps commander of 
the Twenty-fourth Army Corps, to Washington City to 
present flags received at the surrender of General Lee, 
in obedience to the personal order of General Grant. 
I am, very respectfully, W. B. Teters, 

Colonel Commanding 116th Ohio, 



MY AVAR SKETCHES, ETC. 12o 

Thompson and his heroic comrades, with the great box, 
under command of General Gibbon, proceeded to Wash- 
ington by special steamer, and Avere received by Secre- 
tary Stanton with great ceremony. Out in front of the 
war office, Thompson and his comrades stood holding up 
the doomed banners of treason until they were photo- 
graphed, and these pictures together Avith tlie accursed 
of God rags of disloyalty, Avere buried forever in the 
archives of the Department of War. 

Secretary Stanton took each of these heroic men by 
the hand, and thanked them in Avords of heartfelt grati- 
tude for the service they had done their country. 

Thompson* is a poor man, but to-day I saAV his great 
beautiful medal voted him by congress for loyal service, 
and I copied from the originals the orders conferring 
these distinguished honors, and I said then and I say now 
that not all the gold of a Yanderbilt or a Jay Gould can 
equal wealth like his, as all the gold on the globe piled in 
one mighty mountain would have availed but little in the 
day of battle, but for hearts so godlike and heroic as his. 

XI. — Address of Welcome at Soldiers' National 
Reunion, September 1, 1875. 

My Friends. — The delicate duty of Avelcoming you to 
these ample and hospitable shades falls to my lot once 
more, and I owe the Committee of Arrangements many 
thanks for the honor Avhich their appointment of me to 
this place upon their programme implies and confers. I 
could only Avish that I had the knowledge and Avisdom 



* Thompson died since the above was put in type. 



.124 MY WAR PKETCIIES, ETC. 

and eloquence requisite to the proper and graceful dis- 
charge of this important and honorable trust. But you 
will bear with me while I vainly seek to adequately ex- 
press the welcome that struggles within our hearts to-day, 
to find fitting utterance at my lips. You hav^e come 
from near and from far, and from many distant States of 
our Federal Union to celebrate this joyous holiday. You 
come not as enemies, but as friends, neighbors, and fel- 
low-citizens. You have drawn around your camp a magic 
circle, which discords and contention may not enter, and 
within which the camp fires of patriotic good will in con- 
stant luster burn. 

This reunion is National in its importance, and at- 
tracts the thoughtful attention of patriotic people in 
every quarter of the Republic. To-morrow the report 
of your proceedings, carried on the wings of the light- 
ning, will be spread out in the columns of every im- 
portant American newspaper and read by millions of 
your fellow-citizens. To-day representatives of the press 
from many parts of the state honor us with their pres- 
ence, and we miss our hope and prediction much, if they 
do not find in these reunion ceremonies, and this meet- 
ing of old comrades, materials from which to compose 
correspondence of unusual interest for their respective 
journals. Brave soldiers, separated for many years, 
dwelling in distant parts of the country, to-day clasp 
hands again under the folds of the star spangled banner, 
and at these reunion altars, again together lift their 
hands to Heaven and swear that " this government of 
the people, by the people, and for the people can not 
perish from the earth." [Loud applause.] To-day, fel- 
low-citizens, you take respite from the strife of partisan 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 125 

contention, three days of armistice in tins Avar of poli- 
tics, and here, in this beautiful city of leaves, make the 
forest resound Avith your patriotic glee. The East for- 
gets for a time her commerce and manufactures, and 
trips gayly into our camp. The West reverses the course 
of her car of hire, and rushes to meet her fair sister of 
the East. The South, beautiful as a dark eye in Avoman, 
and garlanded Avith magnolias, SAveeps in like a queen, 
and sits doAvn between the East and West, and their kisses 
Avarm their mutual lips, Avliile the tear of reconciliation 
and peace wets their glorious cheeks. The A'^oice of 
Heaven makes music among the sheltering branches 
above us, and the Avhole camp is Avafted on the wings of 
harmony and peace. The South throAvs aside the crim- 
son mantle, and in her beautiful right hand holds a 
gleaming sword. The West and the East rise up, and 
the South gracefully redeems her pledge of honorable 
submission and reconcilement by surrendering the SAvord 
to the West. And the West, true to her pledge of peace, 
takes the SAVord from her sister of the South and sends 
it ringing home to its scabbard, there to remain until 
the honor and safety of the three reunited sisters may 
call it out again for their mutual defense. [Applause.] 
Well miglit tlie angels themselves stoop from the skies 
to Avitness this grand closing scene in the great drama of 
the civil Avar. 

My comrades, you have come here to celebrate the 
anniversary of great contests and great achievements in 
Avhich you Avere all participants. The old comrade feel- 
ing is as Avarm Avithin your hearts to-day as ever, and 
can only die with the last spark of mortal life. Words 
can not express the Avelcome our hearts are dictating 



126 iMY WAU SKKTCIIES, ETC. 

toAvard you to-day. These annual meetings are the 
brightest links in the golden chain of our existence, and 
■\ve shall keep them up until the last comrade lies down 
in the grave. 

Welcome ! welcome, all ! My friends, some of you, 
with streaming eyes and fluttering hearts, watched that 
fearful conflict from afar, and many of you have trod the 
bloody plains of battle and received the fiery baptism of 
Avar— that baptism which Napoleon declared made all 
soldiers equal. But we make no distinctions here to-day. 
AVhile for the old comrades we must entertain and ex- 
press a tender attachment and devotion, shared by no 
others on earth, yet, to day, w^e meet as friends and 
fellow-citizens, and the canopy of our camp is the out- 
spread Avings of the white dove of peace. We darken 
not the fair avenues of onr camp Avith sectional lines, 
to-day, but welcome all alike. 

Whatever j>our politics, complexion, language, or na- 
tionality, you are Avelcome, welcome all, to this reunion, 
and Ave Avant to hear your every voice sounding out the 
chorus of peace on earth and good Avill among all the 
people that inhabit our common fatherland. [Cheering.] 

In the name of our common constitution, made for the 
protection of us all by the power o'f all; in the name of 
our starry banner, equally dear to all as it is the symbol 
of the power of all ; in the name of the great American 
Union, the honu) of us all ; and in the name of the God 
of Peace, our refuge aiid defense, avo bid you welcome 
here to-day. [Applause.] Be this our aspiration ever 
more, and be it Avritten in letters of gold across every 
fold of our Union banner, as the prayer of freemen and 
the motto of a reunited nation, " Peace be Avithin thy 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 127 

■walls, and prosperity within thy palaces." " How beau- 
tiful upon the mountain are the feet of him that bringeth 
glad tidings and publisheth peace." Let us all become 
heralds of peace, and each take our station on the lofty 
places of the nation, and proclaim to each other and to 
the world that " peace has come, and, thank God, it has 
come to stay." 

" Then the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day 
Shall fold their tents like the Arab, 
And as silently steal away." 

In all the four long years of march and bivouac and 
battle, the rosy walls of memory are being touched by 
a magic brush, whose gorgeous impress can not fade or 
perish. Every day and every night the mysterious artist 
was at work in every soldier heart, transforming its 
crimson Avails into galleries of imperishable beauty, and 
even in the hours of sleep penetrating the drapery of 
dreams, to daguerreotype visions of beauty and loveli- 
ness on the weary sleeper's soul. Those pictures to-day 
rise before the e^-e of recollection, and in the subdued 
and somber light of fleeting years, they seem like glori- 
ous groups surrounding the emerald gates of heaven. 
The memories of these strange, wild, eventful years rise 
in grandeur far surpassing all that painters ever traced 
or poets ever dreamed. Pluck from the soldier's soul all 
the memories of those distant years, and you rob him of 
a treasure which he values more than all the wealth of 
Ormus or of Ind. The recollection of his marches, 
sieges, battles, the lonely prison pen, the nights of social 
glee with comrades departed long ago — these constitute 



128 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

the soldier's reward, and he would part with life sooner 
than part with them. 

And so the dear dead faces look down on us to-day. 
I see them now as I have often seen them in days that 
are gone. Strong, fair, beautiful, and young. They 
rise to-day from their beds of glory, and gaze into our 
eyes again. 

" They came in dim procession led, 
The brave, the faithful, and the dead, 
Each hand as warm, each brow as gay, 
As though we parted yesterday." 

And here, amid these joyous rites, let us not forget 
our dead comrades, though our best tribute to their 
memory be silence and tears. 

" On fame's eternal camping-ground, 
Their silent tents are spread. 
And glory guards with solemn round, 
'J'he bivouac of the dead. 

" 0, it is a beautiful belief, 

That ever round our heads 
Are hovering on angel wings 
The spirits of the dead." 

It may be that from some flowery eminence of Paradise 
our departed comrades look down on this reunion, while 
every harp of heaven hangs in silence, and the music of 
our reunion reveille sweeps across the river of death and 
rises to the skies like cathedral chimes. 

" The world will little note nor long remember what 
we say here ; but it never can forget what they did here."' 
The muse of history bends reverently forever above 



xMY WAR SKETCHES, ETC 120 

their holy dust, Avhile the genius of liberty guards their 
graves Avith tender care, and lays her myrtle and her 
amaranth upon the mural tablets that mark the martyr's 
tomb. 

They can not be forgotten until the skies be rolled to- 
gether as a scroll, and the earth shall flee away. Their 
memory is safe, while there is left the sweet voice of 
woman to tenderly proclaim it to little groups of children 
gathering at her knee, or a poet left to commemorate their 
glorious deeds in immortal song, or a sculptor to carve it in 
enduring marble, or a painter to depict it on the speaking 
canvas, or a grateful Nation of brave men and lovely 
women left to adore the starry banner that was made our 
heroes' winding sheet. That peace which to-day covers 
our land as with a mantle of snowy wdiiteness cost 
mountains of treasure, rivers of tears, oceans of blood. 
Our national security did not drop from the skies or 
spring from the ground, the child of chance and change. 
It was born of the heroic throes of patriotism and hero- 
ism. Hovf often have we all repeated this, yet how sel- 
dom realized its solemn significance ! You saw your 
youn<T men 0,0 forth in jirander les:ions than ever Na- 
poleon or Charlemagne or Cffi&ar led to battle, and how 
anxiously you watched and waited for their return. 
When the war was over, and peace had come, and come 
to stay, there was one dead in every house ; in every 
house was a vacant chair. The unreturning braves were 
numberless, and how sadly 3-ou missed them tlien and 
miss them jet, and you must miss them still till you 
shall join them beyond the dark river. They were the 
flower and pride of the Nation, and, crowned as they 
are with the undying laurels of patriotic martyrdom, they 



130 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

seem to me to-day, as they always seemed, the best men 
the worhl ever knew. 

Those Vtho came back from the war bearinc; in their 
hands the tattered and bloody standards of battle were 
no longer young and smiling and fair. They had gone 
out boys, with the morn and liquid dew of youth on 
their cheeks and in their flashing eyes. They returned 
bronzed and bearded men, with the light of battle re- 
flected from their faces. They were no longer the boys 
whom mothers and sisters had kissed at the little gate, 
when the moon was low, and bid " return with your 
shield or upon it." Oh, what changes in this fragile 
human form of clay can four years in the field eft'ect ! 
When men take to the tented field, and dwell for years 
under the rain, and sun, and storms, and stars, the re- 
lentless elements of nature so transform them that their 
dearest friends would hardly know them. The reapers 
in this harvest of death grew prematurely old, and 
bent, and wrinkled, and gray. Once in a Avhile, now, I, 
myself, scarcely thirty-six, meet an old comrade, trudg- 
ing along, pale and Aveary, a premature old man, and 
hardly recognize in him the boy who, ten short years 
ago, marched at my side in the ranks of the Union army, 
in the full pride, and strength, and beauty of his young 
manhood. 

You can never estimate the cost of that long and 
wasteful war, I have no patience with those flat-headed 
,and flint-hearted creatures Avho always reckon the cost 
of that war in dollars and cents. Was the blood of Amer- 
ican citizens notliing but dishwater, that its priceless 
value is never to be included in the cost of the war? 

Not a man fell before Richmond or Atlanta but was 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 131 

worth more to some mother, wife, or sister, than all the 
gohl on the globe. Not a life was poured out on the tide 
of battle but was worth more to its heroic possessor 
than all the gold and silver that ever rolled from the 
American mints. The young men of the Nation, heaps 
upon heaps, lying dead upon the field of battle, this is 
all the war cost us, a price to which all else is nothing 1 

Look upon the hecatombs of slain, hear the widow's 
moan, and the orphans' cry from a million dwellings, 
and suffering, sorrow, and desolation, on the plains of 
war, in the Avretched homestead, and in the ghastly hos- 
pital wards — walk, if you please, with me back through 
these scenes of sorrow again, and then talk about the 
dollars that war cost ! 

The dollars are as nothing ! Nor can the Nation ever 
forget the price it paid for its redemption. After such 
great sacrifices, brethren of the North and South, let us 
determine to protect, and defend, and cherish our blood- 
bought inheritance forever and forever. And in this 
bright centennial year, Avhen all ears are attentive to the 
solemn words of the fathers of the Republic, the beau- 
tiful prophecy of Lincoln becomes crystallized in fulfill- 
ment : " The mystic chords of memory, stretching from 
every battle-field and every patriot's grave, to every 
heart and hearthstone in this broad land of ours, are 
vibrating the sweetest music of the Union, now that they 
are touched again by the better angels of our nature." 

This precious treasure of national peace was purchased 
as well for Texas as for Massachusetts ; as well for 
Louisiana as for Ohio ; as well for those who lifted up 
their hands anjainst the Federal Union as for those who 
bared their breasts in its defense. Christ on the cross 



lo2 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

taught the great lesson of malice toward none — charity 
to all ; and this great Christian Nation, following in its 
Founder's footsteps, taught the South and the world a 
lesson of charity and forbearance which the history of all 
acres before had failed to exhibit. This is the marvel of 
the century, the Avonder of the Nations, and the glory of 
America ; that the same mighty hand that hurled our en- 
emy to the earth, and there disarmed him, was reached 
promptly forth to lift him up again and place his feet se- 
curely on the rock of full and equal citizenship. The past 
is forgiven, no revenge has been taken, no punishment 
executed, and the whole sisterhood of states to-day clasp 
loving hands and trip gracefully along, keeping step to the 
music of the Union. 



This address was delivered at the second one of my 
Soldiers' Reukions, held in 1875. I claim to be the 
originator of all such reunions. I called the first reunion 
of this kind ever held. They have since been held in 
all parts of the United States. Mine was the first. At 
the National Reunion of 1875, Senator Cockrell, a Con- 
federate, was my guest. 

Senator Cockrell, United States Senator from T\Iissouri, 
was present as a guest of the camp, and spoke in sub- 
stance as follovfs, in reply to me : 

Ladies, Soldiers, my Fellow-citizens: — It gives me 
great pleasure to appear before you to-day. Soldiers, 
probably I have met many of you before to-day, and 
under far different auspices. I was invited to come here 
if I was willing to meet you half Avay, and I am here. 
I always tried to meet you half way on the battle field, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. lo-3 

and I am willing to go further than that now. I allow 
no man to go further than myself in my love for my 
country and a wish for her prosperity. What I say to- 
day are the real sentiments of my heart. I am glad that 
I am here, for I feel it will be good for all of us to be 
here. Humanity is the same in all ages of the world, 
and we can not divest ourselves of our humanity, even 
if we would. We can not always control ourselves when 
laboring under great passion, and I do not want you to 
hold me responsible for all I have said and done under 
circumstances incident to a cruel and fratricidal war. But 
I am willing to ask your forgiveness for any real wrong 
I have done. I like to talk to soldiers, for we have met 
on the march, in battle, and in prison. You well remem- 
ber, those of you who were before Yicksburg, what jolly 
times our pickets had under improvised flags of truce, 
how they dispassionately discussed the situation. Now, 
I verily believe that if it could have been so arranged, 
our private soldiers of both armies could have settled 
our late trouble amicably six months after the war closed; 
but that is over now, and we won't " cry over spilt milk." 
We have had a few men in the South of a class I suppose 
you in the North have, who were like what the brave 
Mulligan said of his troops, " invincible in peace and in- 
visible in Avar." Now, I hope you Avill not hold the good 
people of the South responsible for the idle babblings of 
these doughty Avarriors. I hope to meet you to-morrow." 
The speaker v/as heartily applauded. 



The following confirmation of my claim to be the au- 
thor of soldiers' reunions is from the pen of my noble 



lo4 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

friend, Hon. J. Medill, and appeared editorially in the 
Tvihunc of August 20, 1881 : 

In a note of invitation to the editor of The Tribune 
to attend the soldiers' reunion which is to take place at 
Caldwell, 0., Septemher 9, Private Dalzell writes in an 
interesting way of the origin, object, and character of 
these remarkable meetings. The letter was not in- 
tended for publication, but we take the liberty of giv- 
ing a part of it to the public. Mr. Dalzell writes as 
follows : 

" Here upon this ground, many years ago, a few of us 
who carried muskets in defense of the old flag undertook 
to organize a society of soldiers regardless of rank. 
While the army societies saw fit to exclude the rank and 
file on caste principles, we invited officers and men alike 
on the same plane of perfect citizen equality ; for the 
war is over, with its odious distinctions and discrimina- 
tions of rank. Right or wrong, this has been the com- 
manding feature of this reunion, on which a thousand 
just as good in all the North have since been organized. 
General Sherman gave it his hearty indorsement, and 
presided at its first meeting in this town, in 1874. It 
has met with the heartiest indorsement possi))lo in all 
quarters, and so far diffused its republican ideas that, 
even in the regular meetings of the Army of the Ten- 
nessee, more than once an effort has been made to make 
its terms of admission to membership the same as ours — 
an honorable record in the Union army, irrespective of 
rank. General Sherman has repeatedly urged it, and 
only the young upstarts of the regular army have sneered 
at the proposition and voted it down, for they are, of 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 1:15 

course, the majority, and by surrendering their rank dis- 
tinction they would surrender about all they possess. 
Until what we set out to accomplish is done, this reunion 
Avill be kept up. Hundreds of officers who, like Garfield, 
Hayes, Kilpatrick, Wallace, Leggett, Warner, etc., have 
something of manhood over and above their rank, have 
attended its meetings here on the spot of its birth, and 
fully indorsed its simple and solitary principle of equal- 
ity of comradeship and citizenship. 

" Men of many states, who indorse and approve its 
distinctive feature, come to its meetings every year in 
large numbers, and so it goes on increasing in numbers 
and interest. Other reunions on this plan have sprung 
up and are held in all the North — the more the better 
for our idea. 

" Only in one respect does it acknowledge itself a fail- 
ure. At first, and for five successive years, a most cor- 
dial invitation was extended to the Boys in Gray as well 
as the Boys in Blue. I regret to say that every effort 
utterly failed to induce them to come. Letters were 
sent them, with passes, etc., and the press of the South 
year after year teemed with the most pressing and cour- 
teous invitations. Many of the prominent men South 
promised to come. But, when the time drew on, they 
failed to be here, except only Major Jones of Alabama, 
General Key, of President Hayes' cabinet, and Senator 
Cockrell, of Missouri. In all the five or six years of the 
early history of our reunion, we were able to induce no 
others to come. And so that feature, two or three years 
ago, was dropped as a failure, an utter failure, after a 
full and fair trial." 

Dalzell's zeal in behalf of the private soldiers, and 
12 



13G MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

.their inalienable right to hold reunions and be recognized 
as having done something for the country, has caused 
him to be lauglied at a good deal, but there is sound sense 
at the bottom of it. The people may remember that no 
battles in the late war were won by the officers alone. 
There was no prouder title in our volunteer army than 
that of the private soldier. Private Dalzell is right 
about it. 

XII. — How THE Private Went After but Didn't Get 
A Christmas Turkey. 

Joe Purkey and I were not the soldiers to lie down 
supinely and wish wo had turkeys, chickens, apples, po- 
tatoes, and other good cheer, like the folks at home, 
Christmas, 18G3. Not we ! if the court knew herself, 
and the court was of opinion that she did. We were in 
the wild mountainous region of Petersburg, W. Va. It was 
cold and dreary, and with the exception of an occasional 
bushwhacker caught or shot while plying his cowardly 
vocation in the bushes, we seldom saw a rebel. But the 
country was filled with roving and sneaking gangs of 
guerrillas, who, like At-abaces in the piny, were liable to 
turn up where they were least expected and least wanted. 
So it came to pass, now and then, that some one of our 
more adventurous spirits who ventured beyond the lines 
fell victims to these lurking foes who watched about our 
camps and picket posts for just such unsuspecting game. 

I had a holy horror of them. So had Joe. Therefore, 
when Milroy issued his order forbidding soldiers to go 
beyond our picket posts, it found ready and willing 
obedience. But to all rules there are exceptions, and if 



MY V/AR SKETCHES, ETC. 187 

ever an exception should be made, or, at least, would be, 
whether it should be or not, for our logic and ethics were 
not over nice — it would crop out about Christmas. What, 
stay in camp Christmas and New Year's, in that miserable 
wooded ravine in the valley, and eat hardtacic and ab- 
dominal pork, while our companions at home were fairly 
luxuriatins; and revelins; in wine and wassail — not we ! 
At all hazards, we determined to pass beyond our lines 
and " cabbage," " confiscate," " gobble up," " press into 
service," purchase, or steal some of the good things with 
which, in the earlier and better days of the Republic, we 
had been wont to regale ourselves " in the old house at 
home." 

And this is how we put our plan into execution. 
Common soldiers could not pass the pickets, but officers 
might. So, stealing a pair of officers' coats, big brass 
strans and all, which we easily accomplished the night 
before, and getting passwords and countersigns from a 
drunken lieutenant, whom Ave bribed, and whose soul 
could have been purchased for the promise of a dram 
of "mountain dew," which he was sure to get on our 
return, we climbed on a pair of stolen mules, and rode 
leisurely down the higlnvay lea<ling to the outposts. 
Our gorgeous coats we did not display, for our great blue 
overcoats covered them, straps and all, until we had passed 
beyond the camp and into the woods near the picket post. 
Hiding behind a hillock there, the change was quickly 
made by pulling off our overcoats, and presto ! there sat 
two as gallant and ferocious-looking young officers as 
ever straddled a mule since Sancho Panza first threw a 
leg over the renowned dapple. Riding up with a haughty 



138 MY WATl SKETCHES, ETC. 

and overbearing air, full of contempt and &corn for the 
half-dozen pickets who stood shivering -with cold about 
the fire, "wc barely touched our caps as they (all strangers 
to us and members of an Indiana regiment) gave us the 
military salute of present arms, and as Ave gave the pass- 
word correctly no questions were ventured, and we were 
soon beyond the lines, and galloping away for the wild 
hills beyond. We had performed our part so well that 
the simple-minded pickets saw no difference between our 
hauteur, nonchalance, and insolence and that of the 
genuine officers who galloped by them every day on 
their debauchs and amours outside the lines, an honor of 
war denied usually to the rank and file, unless, like us, 
they donned the paraphernalia and insolence of office, 
and, Avith lofty airs of superiority and impudence, gal- 
loped by the sentinels without so much as saying, " by 
your leave." 

Joe and I Avere younger then tlian Ave are now, and as 
we galloped over the frozen road through tlio keen, biting, 
frosty air, our glee and merriment Avere unbounded, and 
found expression in frequent peals of laughter Avhich 
echoed through the pine and laurels at the very risk of 
our lives; for Ave kncAV not hoAV soon Ave should hear the 
crack of a bushwhacker's gun, and be called to bite the 
frosty roadside. But there were " two souls Avith but a 
single thought" possessed; "two hearts that beat as 
one " — for turkey, chickens, and sich ! We thought of 
nothing else. So completely Avas the country stripped 
that Ave did not think Avorth Avhile to invade any of the 
cabins or barn yards that Ave }):'»ssed at long intervals in 
the liills, until wo had gone five miUis from camp. Sud- 
denly, as Ave dashed around a sharp curve in the road, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 139 

we came upon an old negro bawling one of the songs 
wi:h which his oppressed race had been used to beguile 
the weariness of slavery, and solace themselves during 
two hundred years of bondage. 

The old fellow jerked off his ragged possuui-skin cap, 
salaamed full low in his ragged clothes, and grinned 
from ear to ear, as he exclaimed : " Fore God, Massa 
Linkum's men, slio !" " Where can we find some turkeys 
and whisky, Sambo?" I inquired. The cr(?ature, Avho 
was old, gray, and wrinkled, drew his face down to un- 
common length, and solemnly protested he did not know. 
" That is too thin," said Joe in a voice of thunder that 
made the old man jump up and look scared. " Now, 
you see here, old man. Tote along ahead, and no more 
back talk or foolishness. You must find some cliickens, 
turkeys, and whisky, or I will blow your head off your 
shoulders." And, suiting the action to the word, Joe 
leveled his navy at the frightened contraband, who threw 
up his hands, and, while his eyes rolled with fright, cried 
out: " Don't pint that are at me so. I'll show you di- 
rectly what you want, boss." And so Joe put up the 
pistol, and the old man trotted ahead a mile or so un- 
til we came in si2;ht of a fine old Virginia mansion^ 
first house not made of logs Ave had seen that morning. 
lie solemnly assured us that we should find all we wanted 
at Massa Seymour's, as he told us the owner's name was, 
and, giving him permission to retire, the poor old soul 
trotted off, and "was soon out of sight. It would have 
cost him his life had it transpired when we were gone 
that he had acted as our cicerone. We soon reached the 
plantation, hitched our mules, and entered. A beautiful 
young lady met us at the door. These were no days 



140 -MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC, 

of ceremony, so, our errand being quickly made Icnown, 
■with apparent alacrity, she sent a colored woman for the 
■whisky, -who soon came beaming and grinning ■with a big 
bottle and some glasses on a silver salver. We embraced 
the bottle lovingly, and frequently, and, seeing a piano 
in the room, asked the young lady to play. She courte- 
ously took her scat at the piano and played " My Mary- 
land "' and other rebel airs, accompanying them ■with a 
voice of bewitching sweetness. As she sang we had 
time enough to look around. An old man, her decrepit 
father, the haughty lord of Seymour mansion, came limp- 
ing in, and sat down beside us, eyeing us coldly enough. 
He Avas a haughty, gray-haired gentleman of the old 
school. In answer to our questions he simply said : 
" Certainly, Avhen you gentlemen command it is ours to 
obey. You are irresistible — -to old men and children. 
You shall have a turkey and some chickens. I shall send 
my servants for them this minute. Make yourselves 
at home." And so saying he stepped quietly into the 
hall, and we never saw nor thought any more of him, 
but kept regaling ourselves with the music and the bot- 
tle. The young lady played on as if she was playing for 
a wager — and she Avas ! I Avondered that she did not 
grow Aveary and stop to be coaxed to continue, as is 
common Avith ladies at the piano. Not a bit of it. It 
seemed to delight her to entertain us, and she would 
have played on, it seemed, forever. She Avas playing 
more than a tune. Once or twice a young lady, whose 
complexion and lineaments plainly shoAved she was 
not of the family, flitted nervously through the hall, 
and as she did so she glanced uneasily at us and Avas 
gone. This she kept up for some time, until at last. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 141 

pausing for an instant, she motioned me to come out. 
As I did so, where tlie piano fury could not see me, she 
slipped a feather in my han<l, which I quickly slid into 
my pocket unseen, and she simply whispered to mo, 
" Fly," and was gone. I never saw her again. Her air 
and manner spoke volumes. The warning was not un- 
heeded nor a moment too soon. I called to Joe to come 
out (juickly, for in those days one did not have to speak 
twice to be understood ; and, communicating my alarm 
to him in a look, for I dare not speak, we started to 
leave — the bottle, the girl, and the Christmas turkey, 
without any tender leave-taking — much as it might sur- 
prise the lady at the piano ! 

Miss Seymour, noticing our movements, rose quickly, 
and said : " Gentlemen, do not be so hasty. Father has 
sent out for your Christmas — ." But we heard no more 
and made no reply, but in a jiffy were on our mules and 
dashing down the lane. Not a moment too soon. Thanks 
to the warning of the unknown girl; for out from be- 
hind the barn came a number of rebels, and we could 
hear their shouts : "Halt! you Yankee — ," and a vol- 
ley of bullets whizzed over our heads, harmless as the 
words they uttered. We were lucky that they were 
not mounted, and soon were out of reach of tlieir guns, 
and on our way back to camp, turkeyless and chicken- 
less, but full as fiddlers ! Next day was Christmas, and 
we feasted on conjectures as to who our deliverer was, but 
never a turkey or chicken for us that Christmas day. 
Our expedition was as utter a failure as if we had been 
brigadier-generals. 



142 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 



XIII. — Decoration Day Address in Wheeling, 1883. 

Soldiers and Citizens: — Invited on behalf of the com- 
mittee having in charge the arrangements for the dedi- 
cation of this monument, I am here to-day to speak such 
words as may seem to befit the occasion. This monu- 
ment to the memory of the dead soldiers of West 
Virginia is an eloquent witness of the veneration in 
which you hold them every one. It is a credit to Wheel- 
ing. It is a credit to West Virginia. It speaks well for 
your patriotic gratitude. To suffer the speechless dead 
to lie forgotten of those who have so largely benefited 
as 3'ou have by their services on t!ie fields of mortal 
combat, in defense of your homes and firesides, and in 
defense of your country, as w'ell as theirs, would be base 
ingratitude indeed. Tiiis monument is not reared for 
them. It rises up as a testimonial of yours to their chil- 
dren and yours, to bear witness that you are not un- 
mindful of their heroic lives and deaths, and that those 
who died for the perpetuation of the American Union 
are of " the few, the immortal names, that can not die." 

They sleep the dreamless sleep. Unmindful of these 
august ceremonies, deaf to your words of praise, they 
rest dreamless and alone, each in his sepulcher of glory. 
On fields of war where they fell ; in the quietude of the 
country churchyard at home ; in the crowded cemeteries 
of your cities; by the wayside; in the depths of moun- 
tain solitude, in the rivers, and in the sounding seas ; 
hard by prison pens tiiat realized an earthly hell ; in 
swamps and fens and everglades; and some, alas ! un- 
buried still, whose uncoffined bones lie bleaching in the 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 143 

sun, your lioroes rest, peacefully and still. Your songs 
of praise, your eulogies, they shall never hear. It is all 
one to them ^vhethcr you uncover your heads and shed 
your tears above tlieir graves of glory. Your flowers 
shall fall, your words of praise shall sound unheeded ; 
they are <lcad to you and dead to me, and nothing shall 
awaken them from their dreamless and eternal sleep ; 
nothing shall raise them from these slumbers in the dust, 
this dumi) resting after days and nights of toil and labor 
and darins;, notliincr ever but the thunder call of God. 

You pause in abstract contemplation, to-day, attentive 
by their graves, expectant, almost, as the flowers drop 
upon their graves from the liands of Beauty and Love, 
to hear a response of gratitude that shall never come. 
Little children, in the auroral blush and bloom of child- 
ish innocence and glee, gambol about these sacred 
shrines. Tlie old soldier's heart is cold, and his eye is 
blind, and his ear is deaf. Their merry footsteps he can 
not hear ; their warm and open hands he can not clasp. 
Mother and father, sister and brother, have laden these 
sacred ffraves with tears, and lament the loss no time can 
wholly heal ; and yet the soldier heeds it not. lie is 
wedded to the dust. The worms are his father and his 
mother and his sister. In vain, all in vain, 3'ou call his 
cherished name, ho shall never answer back ; and his 
footsteps, once so familiar to your ear, shall never more 
sound upon this ])lanet. It is hard to realize, even 3'et, 
they are gone, and gone forever. Somehow they were 
so young, so beautiful and brave and true, that we 
thought them only sleeping, and that they would soon be 
back. 

But they come again to us only in our dreams, and 

Id 



144 iMY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

vanish from our sight the moment we aAvalce. We shall 
all go to them, but tliey shall never come again to us. 
Never. Then Avhv Imihl these monuments or strew these 
memorial flowers and s})e;ik these words of praise? If 
they to whom we dedicate this day can not with us enjoy 
the solemn rites, why observe them still from year to 
year ? God knows we would reach them if Ave could. 
God knows with Nvhat fervor and gratitude we should 
kiss their lips and embrace their forms, and with what 
lavish gratitude we should pour words of pr;iise into 
their ears if Ave could. We strain every nerve, every 
living poAver and emotion Ave have, and it is hard to 
realize that they who did so much for us can never know 
hoAV ffrateful avc are to tliem for tlieir unselfishness, their 
devotion. The Christian l)eliever nddresses Christ in 
thanksgiving and praise for Avhat he did for him by his 
life and death. Calvary is on his lips. He falls at the 
foot of the cross. He addresses a dead but living Christ, 
conscious that Christ hears every Avord of praise, ;ind 
that though dead he still lives. Tlie devoted Christian 
sings tlie praises — the pi'aises not of a dead, but of a 
risen and living Christ. 

But these saviors of us, of our homes, our country, 
liave had no resurrection yet. They can not hear us, 
they can not know but that tliey are forgotten of us all. 
This to me is the saddest of it all. This calamity of the 
Avar might be borne Avithout much pain or regret, if at 
the shrines avc have avc might find, living and intelligent 
still, the loving objects of our devotion. If, Aviien avc 
Aveep, they could oidy smile back to us ; if, Avhen we sing 
their praises, a voice could only rise from the tomb to tell 
us that its occupant had heard the songs ; if, Avhen the 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 145 

words of praise and eulogy were pronounced, an answering 
voice from the eternal shadows could only come, these 
solemn rites and ceremonies would have other potency 
anil significancy than now they have. But they are dead 
and silent in their graves. We may speak, they will not 
reply. We may call, they can not hear. Decoration may 
come and go, and in due time be pretermitted and ol)- 
served no longer, and yet these heroes of ours shall never 
complain. 

Selfish and cold as it seems, and as it appears ought 
not to be, in justice to these noble, heroic dead of ours, 
this Decoration Day is not for them — it is for us, and for 
our children's children, forever and forever more. Not 
for the dead, but for the living, are we come here to-day. 
This grand column of remembrance and gratitude does 
not rise for them — it is for us, and for our children for- 
ever. It is to empliasize with eternal record, so far as 
poor human art may go, the lesson of fidelity to the flag, 
of faith in the American Union, and patriotic devotion 
to the cause of human liberty. This is the lesson this 
shaft shall teach when you and I are dead. Our children 
and our children's cliildren shall read it in its crumblino; 
and decay. And when it is leveled with the earth, and 
we and our poor transient ceremonies are forgotten 
(juite, still the faithful pen of history will proclaim that 
the men Avho died for their native land, " who gave the 
last full measure of their devotion for it," were not for- 
gotten in their graves, nor neglected by those who en- 
joyed the fruits of their victories. 

It is for this that these fair ladies, these sweet cliil- 
dren, and these earnest men are here to-day. It is that 



14G MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

one day may be consecrated and set up to the memory of 
those who fell in defense of the American Lnion, It is 
that their gratitude to their brave defenders may be 
voiced in this monument, and by it proclaimed to pos- 
terity. A liundred Decoration Days yet to come, when 
you and I aisd v.W this vast multitude shall have passed 
away, this monument shall be our orator, to speak for us 
what we can no longer say for ourselves, and with its 
silent eloquence proclaim the Nation's gratitude to its 
brave defenders. This Nation has made a great mistake 
— one that it must in time repair, and which even now it 
is not too late for it to remember. While it is well that 
at more than eighty National cemeteries to-day ceremo- 
nies of decoration are observed, and th.e heroic dead are 
not forgotten quite, yet no truly National monument has 
yet been erected by the Congress of the United States, 
the servant of tlie people, to commemorate the valor and 
devotion of the Union army, the heroism and self-sacri- 
fice of half a million men who died for their country. 

It is time this act of justice were done, creditable 
alike to the art, the genius, the civilization, the patriot- 
ism, and the gratitude of a nation. 

Future times and people, reading the story of that 
conflict, shall look for a monument truly national ; dis- 
appointed, and with no good opinion of tlu^ present age 
if they do not find it somewhere in our vast domain. 
States have performed this sacred duty. Many of them. 
West A^irginia among the first, and others are yet to 
buihl monuments of this kind. But the Union, the 
Avhole Uiiiov), joining as one man in the gr;in<l, sacred 
task, has yet remaining to it the great duty of building 
one really national ; vast in proportions, grand in design, 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 147 

and Avitli the permanency of tlic pyramids stamped upon 
it. The Nation need not he ashamed of the colossal task. 
It need apologize to no one for the undertaking. It 
owes it to itself. It need give no offense, and woe to 
him or them by ■whom ofJcnse cometh, if the Nation in 
recording its gratitude in granite or marble columns to 
its bravo defenders, exceeds any monument hitherto 
raised in the history of the "world. 

National exequial observances are not peculiar to our 
country and age. Decoration Day was first instituted 
on the motion of Aristidcs in the Athenian Senate just 
after the battle of Plattica. The excquy was annually 
pronounced by the great orators of Greece precisely as 
it is in these latter days in America. Thucydides gives 
us a full report of a decoration address delivered by 
Pericles more than two thousand years ago. The cere- 
mony of strewing the graves of the heroes of Platava, 
Marathon, and Salamis was observed precisely as it is 
now, centuries before Christ. 

All Greece assembled on these great occasions an- 
nually, and Plutarch himself was an eye witness six hun- 
dred years after the first burial rite was first instituted. 
lie says that, for at least six hundred years in succession, 
it has never been neglected for a single year. A^erily 
there is nothing new under the sun. It w;is ;i great part 
of the religion of the Greeks to bury their heroes with 
solemn pomp and ceremony, mark their tombs with 
special care, and annually strew them over with beauti- 
ful flowers at the expense of the nation. So much stress 
did they place upon the duty of victorious generals to 
carefully bury their dead on the field of battle, that 
Xenophon tells us that, after the ten commanders who 



148 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

liad won the naval fight of Argjnusns rcturncil to 
Athens, they were tried, lind eight of them condemned 
to death and executed on tlie spot, upon the single charge 
that they had not buried their dead ! l*ericles has fur- 
nished posterity with the best model of a decoration ad- 
dress. Hear him, as he pronounces these words over 
the graves of those Avho fell in the Samian war : 

" They are bcconie immortal like the gods, for the 
gods themselves are not visible to us. Only for the honors 
they receive, and the happiness they enjoy, we conclude 
they are invisible, and such should these brave men be 
who die for their country,'' 

The whole oration will richly repay perusal, but I 
have room here for but that single sentence. 

In the Italian wars of tlie middle ages, it is a fact that 
there were few graves and nothing to decorate in the 
shape of heroes' tombs. It may seem a grave joke, in- 
deed,, but it is the truth of history, that tlicse wars fur- 
nished nothing to decorate, and had it not been for the 
invention of gunpowder, the art of constructing impene- 
trable armor would by this time have done away with 
Decoration Day! Those wars cost no lives. At the 
battle of Zogonora, in 1423, according to Machiavelli, 
but three lives were lost, and these were suffocated in 
the mud, where they were held down by their heavy 
armor. 

That is the worst case of stuck in the mud I ever 
heard of. l^ut that battle was not less destructive of 
life than the one which occurred sixty-three years after- 
ward between the Neapolitan and Papal troops, for in 
that battle, tliough it raged fiercely all day, from sun- 
rise till long after dark, according to Ammarato, not a 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 149 

soldier was either killed or wounded. There were no 
graves to decorate there, and many an energetic young 
woman was disappointed in not being made a widow. 
War in those days was much less hazardous than a snow- 
balling match is now. With their massive plates of 
metallic armor, two armies w'ould whack away at each 
other with ax and spear from morning till night, with no 
other cost than to pile up big blacksmith bills for repairs! 
War had become a screaming farce, in which nobody Avas 
frightened and nobody hurt. No one could j)ut on airs 
over his fellow-soldier and claim that he, moi-c than 
others, bore about with him, like Can.byscs, Cyrus, 
Cnesar, Napoleon, and Grant, a charmed life. They did 
not have on them even the one vulnerable spot which the 
Grecian hero had. From the crowns of their heads to 
the soles of their feet, they were all over invulnerable, 
until, at the close of the fifteenth century, gunpowder 
was discovered and shattered their armor to atoms, and 
war again became that terrible thing it had been of old, 

" Deadly as Kuli's sword; 
Tlie purple testament of blood and death, 
Fields oi' slaughter and red '.vitli gore." 

There is a graveyard somewhere that I should love to 
see decorated with flowers. It is of those 90,000 little 
children, commanded by a child, who, carried away by 
the wild fanaticism of the Dark ages, marched to the 
rescue of the sepulcher of Jesus, dispersed and murdered 
by the Saracens — all but 3,000 of them ! Grander than 
the monuments on the field of Marathon should be the 
cenotaph that should mark the resting place of those de- 
voted children of the 13th century who sacrificed their 



150 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

beautiful young lives upon the altar of religion; and 
that Jesus himself might stoop from the skies, as doubtless 
iby his creative power he has literally done, and strew 
their graves with flowers. Let not the chilling breath of 
modern rationalism scornfully sneer at devotion like this, 
however much it may have been mistaken, for their sen- 
timent for Avhich they died is immortal as the souls that 
conceived it, and wreaths their graves with everlasting 
glory. Contrast with such a tomb as that of Sardanapa- 
lus, the Assyrian prince, noted only for his effeminacy, 
luxury, and cowardice, ordering his grave to be marked 
with these words : 

'■'■Haccliahco quae cdl^rpidcqua cxeaturaia libido IuiuhU ; 
et ilia jacct midla, ct pracclara sclicta.^'' 

''An epitaph," says Aristotle, "fit for a hog." 
There is nothing nev/ in our decoration custom. It 
Avas suggested by tb.e passage I have referred to from 
Grecian history. It is well tJiat we annually observe the 
beautiful custom recently revived of strewing the graves 
of our soldiers with flowers, and commemorating their 
gallant deeds by the triple and mystic poAver of painting, 
poetry, and oratory. It does the dead no good, but it 
educates the living, and instils into the hearts of the 
voung the patriotism and maidy virtues of their heroic 
ancestors. The martial glory of Greece made its classic 
literature possible, by giving it something worthy of an 
imperishable record, an.d much more by exalting and re- 
fining every true and honoral)le sentiment and passion 
thnt can adorn and Iieaiitiry human nature. Recalling 
the example of Cato, as he bioked back on the field where 
Pompey and Civsar had just fought a terrible battle, and 
as he saw the bleeding bodies of a thousand Romans he 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 151 

covered his face and retired weeping, exclaiming," Though 
they were enemies they were my countrymen ;" so we 
may stand at the graves, not only of our comrades but of 
our enemies, and drop the tear of pity, for they were 
misguided countrymen. 0, let us pray for the coming 
day when wars will cease, Avhen wars and discord shall 
be banished from the world, and when the dream of the 
ancient philosophers shall be realized in one full diapason 
of harmony, and " the bugles of God," of Avliich Charles 
Sumner wrote so beautifully, shall sound tlie'harps of peace. 

XIV. — The Effect of the Old Flag Upon Young 
Patriots at Enlistment. 

I knew no more of the manual of arms than did my 
field and staff officers, though quite as much as officers 
of the line did — and that was precisely nothing. I shall 
never forget them — those halcyon hours of blissful igno- 
rance, when I lifted my hand under the folds of the starry 
flag and swore to defend it and the constitution, and laws 
thrown in for good measure, for three years, or 
during the war. Tlie flag rippled out in graceful folds in 
the morning breeze, and couldn't hold itsalf for laugh- 
ing, as it floated proudly over us, as we green, raAV boys, 
fresh from college, rallied under its streaming pennons 
and took that great oath of loyal service for its defense. 
As I look up at it now it seems wreathed in smiles and 
convulsed with laughter at the grotesque display Ave 
made. 

It fairly flapped and rolled in great and glorious bil- 
lows of n)erriment and glee. It seemed younger then 
than it does now. Age and battle have written fiery 



152 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

scars on its folds since tlien. It is, indeed, the old flag 
now, a quarter of a century older than it was when we 
first fell in behind it, and it streamed on before. Then 
it was the morning of our lives — nothing had aged, our 
wrinkles and scars were yet unrecorded on the fair scrolls 
of our hopes and ambitions. A gun — I knew no more 
about war than it knew about me. Yet we liad all sworn 
to take up muskets and shoot rebels dead, dead, dead, 
or oftener if need be. No wonder the flag laughed, and 
only we were solemn, all ignorant of coming events, yet 
innocent of premonitory shadow, for there were no shad- 
ows anywhere yet, curtained as we were then in the 
armored blush of youth. We stood with our bright 
young faces there in the sunlight of early day, and, as 
we faced the future, it stood out all blank before us. 
But behind that awful shadow '' God kept watch above 
his own." And so a pair of fair young liands firmly 
seized the staff" from which the flag floated, and the old 
banner looked lovingly down ; its stars glittered as they 
g]eau:icd at us from their fields of blue, and their alter- 
nate stripes of red and white swayed in the morning 
air with a beauty no tongue can ever express. It — 
the old flag — the young flag, the bright, new flag, seemed 
to whisper a promise of coming strength and glory, and 
in the undersong of its soft rustling above, a voice 
seemed to come out and down from its silken waves, as 
if from the very skies, sweet and solemn as matin chimes 
summoning every heart to adoration, praise, and prayer. 
The charm of the flag on the heart of youth — how shall 
I describe it? It was at once spiritual and serene, com- 
manding every heart and knee to worship it, and by its 
mystic beauty and power converted plain young men to 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 153 

heroes as it floated on before. Who doubts the fire and 
cloudy pillar of old ^vere carried on before in the un- 
seen hand of God, and that every devout pil<^rira's eye 
read in their mystic procession much more than ma- 
terial flame and shadow ? What power the fire and 
cloud, as pictured in the presence of Deity, had to the 
Israelitish hosts of old, our starry banner symbolized to 
us as it swept on before. 

Our first drill-master, therefore, and our best, was the 
bright new flag that the ladies at home had intrusted to 
our care as we marched down from the village on the 
hill the ilay we took the oath of service. It was our 
leader. It was our visible presence of the Lord and the 
Republic. It was all there — all of heaven, all of earth, 
all of home, all of memory, all of hope, and there was 
no place left on all its ample and restless billows to 
find a place for fear or make a mask of shame. It went 
on before, an inspiration and a guide, bearing more au- 
thority and power of command in its robes of beauty 
than ever belonged to the divinity of kings. 

Some might question the right of this or that general 
to command — none ever dreamed of questioning the su- 
qremacy of the stars and stripes. Some might hesitate 
to follow where ardent and impetuous soldiers might dare 
to CO — none ever hesitated for a moment to iro where 
the flag flew ! 

" Our flag is there " ended all question ; it had marked 
the path of duty with its flowing folds, and to quail at 
any danger, or feel the touch of any fear in that majestic 
presence was to distrust the good providence of God and 
to incur his wrath and curse forever. And so we stood, 
looking up at the deep mysteries of the new flag that 



154 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

first mornins; of oar soldier life. I do not sav we de- ^ 
ciphered iiright all its mysterious meaning, or read fully 
and accurately the secret of its power, but there was 
that about it anyhow, there and then, in the first hour, 
year, the first second of our soldier life, that thrilled every 
heart to the core, and filled every bright young eye with 
tears. 

We had not put on our uniform of blue. We had not 
seen a musket yet. We had only just been SAvorn in. 
Young, raw recruits, every face innocent of a razor, and 
every eye flashing with " the morn and liquid dew of 
youth." At the altar of our country there avc stood 
willing to sacrifice our young lives, with all their bright 
young chapters in the lexicon of hope, in defense of that 
star-spangled banner, and all of the future that it repre- 
sented. All of the future? Nay, more. All of the 
past, too, for since it was first flung to the breeze at 
Princeton what glories had it gathered on many a bloody 
field and wave, and these, as by enchantment, now were 
pictured on its folds. It was Washington's own flag. It 
iiad the light of battle all over its tri-colorcd form, and 
the sweet and sacred charm of victory hung about it as 
a revelation of its power. It bore the glory of three fa- 
mous wars for our country. It had streamed over the 
very cradle when liberty was born. It had sheltered 
liberty in its youth, and under its effulgent beams liberty 
had f^rowu to her full stature and beauty, and now that 
she was threatened with ignominy and death its mystic 
presence was about her still. Liberty stood there ma- 
jestic in her woes and tears. At the apparition of the 
fla"- that had ever ])een her protecting angel, we, the 
sons of liberty, gathered from the East and the West at 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 155 

the talismanic call of the flag, and there behind the glo- 
rious en:>igu -we beheld the colossal form of liberty, and 
her great Avhite hands were stretched above our youth- 
ful heads in benediction. 

And so, as we gazed -with beating hearts and tearfid 
eyes on the dear old flag, we raised our hands all to- 
gether, and, vvith lips quivering and voices choking with 
emotion wo vainly tried to suppress, we repeated the 
solemn oath of service and devotion. 

It was the accolade of the flag! It had transformed 
us in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, from boys 
into soldiers. Henceforth the bright rubicon of youth- 
ful gayety, frolic, and hilarity was to be behind us, and 
we were committed to the task of saving our country, 
or dying for it — no boy's play, indeed, was tliat to be ! 
Many men, indeed, worthily some, unworthily more, com- 
manded us, ere our task was done. Some were obeyed 
and some were scorned. But one commander there 
ever was that never failed nor faltered, and vv'hosc influ- 
ence daily grew upon us until the closing gun was fired, 
and that was the star spangled banner. It was the 
greatest of all the generals — the commander-in-chief par 
excellence. It fought and won more battles than all 
the generals put together. It never got sick. It was 
never relieved for fiiilure to do its duty. It was never 
folded aAvay on furlough. It never disobeyed orders, 
it never faltered under iniy fire, though entering mouths 
of hell. Its sentinel stars never closed their eyes in 
slumber on even the darkest night. Riddled with bul- 
lets, shattered with shell, it often fell, and always when 
the fight was the hottest. But it was soon up and on 
again — an inspiration to its followers, a holy terror to 



156 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

its enemies. It was borne sometimes in visible and 
sometimes in unseen bands, but it floated on always and 
every-where — tbc beauty of tbe battle. 

Would you know bow to answer tliis riddle military — 
three days on long marches of many miles, and every 
night in the same bed? If you belonged to the First 
Brigade, Second Division, Eighth Army Corps, and Mil- 
roy's command on the Shenandoah in the spring of 1863, 
you can read my riddle at a glance ; otherwise, it will 
probably stump you. It was military strategy peculiar 
to the times I write about, and, as there was no reason 
in the world for it then, none has come along since, un- 
less twenty-three years of hard study has taught some 
of our generals who were there, and led on this wild 
goose-chase after nothing, that it was nicely planned and 
executed according to the approved science of war. 
Give them twenty or thirty years more, and they will 
have proved that the battle of Bull Run was a glorious 
victory ! We were nearly all green young soldiers, en- 
listed the year before, and knew no more of war then, at 
the time of said W. G. chase, than McClellan on the Pe- 
ninsula. Not a bit more. So we just went it blind — 
the blind leading the blind — and oft wo started on a 
scout, Avith a battery, the First West Virginia Cavalry, 
the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Pennsylvania Cavalry, 
One Hundred and Tenth, One Hundred and Sixteenth, 
One Hundred and Twenty-second, One Hundred and 
Twenty-third Ohio, Eighteenth Connecticut, and the 
Fifty-fourth Massachusetts, and a host of citizen scouts 
ahvays attached in great numbers to Elliott's division of 
Milroy's command. General Elliott had charge of our 
expedition in person, leaving Milroy with the remainder 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. ' 157 

of his army in the garrison and fortifications at AVin- 
chester. 

It was a bright May morning when we started out of 
Winchester, flags flying and bands playing, going — the 
Lord knows where and what for — because I never knew, 
and no one else ever did. It was a great piece of strat- 
egy to kee}) such things quiet, so quiet tliat nobody, not 
even the generals in charge, knew what they were doing 
until the thing Avas done, and they have' been writing it 
up into a big thing ever since, though then it seemed a 
fizzle and a failure. It is wonderful what a fine effect 
such things produce in history, when set off with maps 
and charts prepared at great expense, and without any 
regard to the facts, twenty years after the war. It was 
a parade march, that long, hot day, thirty-three miles to 
Wardensville, where we camped that night in the open 
fields. A more tired and weary army never rested their 
bones in the green, dewy fields. We threw out our 
pickets in the brush along the skirts of the mountain, 
and two of them, I remember well, were shot dead by the 
coAvardly, skulking bushwhackers that night. 

The bushwhacker, the cowardly stay-at-home, prowling 
on the mountain slopes, following along after our armies, 
was the meanest and most dangerous foe we ever en- 
countered in West Virginia. Next day, bright and early, 
we broke camp and marched seven miles south to Lost 
River. It was a raging torrent, hugged in closely in a 
narrow ravine in the mountains, and at the time impassa- 
ble. Just a few rods below the ford, for there was no 
bridge, the impetuous torrent rushed fairly against the 
mountain, down under its base, and was lost to sight. 
That is why it is called Lost River. I never knew where 



158 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

its floods debouch from tlie mouutain, or if indeed they 
emerge at all. Doubtless some of our generals who have 
been engaged upon the geography and topography of 
that region for the last twenty years, in order to prove 
the wisdom of the expedition, and to explain why Gen- 
eral Elliott, his staif, and his corps of engineers should 
march an army full upon an impassable torrent before 
discovering that its passage was impracticable, have pre- 
pared maps and charts which will make all these difficul- 
ties to disappear, much as has been done in the case of 
the surprise at Shiloli or the failure at Bull Run. 

After a council of war, it was ordered that we occupy 
our old camp, until the pontooners and engineers could 
bridge the stream. 

It was then learned for the first time that a body of 
rebels, some two thousand strong, Avere encamped but a 
few miles south, under the command oi General Jones, 
and General Elliott was anxious to get at them with his 
army of 8,000 or 10,000 well armed and well equipped 
soldiers.. 

So we worked back to our old camp at Wardensville, 
and slept a secure night right on tiie same sjiot. 

Meantime the bushwhackers and scouts v.bo hovered 
about us constantly had twenty-four hours' notice to give 
(xeneral Jones of our advance, and he folded Jiis tents 
like the Aral), as history tells, and never waited a bit 
foj" us to come and cat him up ! This Avas some more 
strategy, but it Avas all on the rebel side, as usual. 

On the morning of the third day avc resumed our 
march, crossed Lost River on the ncAV bridge constructed 
the night before, and olf Ave Avent, at a double-quick al- 
most, after General Jones, Avho Avas noAV probably laugh- 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 159 

ing at our strategy thirty miles away. About noon our 
scouts returned with a. message to General Elliott that 
the rebs had vanished, and so we counter-marched fifteen 
miles, and slept the third night in our former lieds, on 
the green grass at Wardensville. Since the days of Don 
Quixote, I do not think such wonderful movements have 
been accomplished, unless it may be in other parts of our 
army, of ^Yhicll other soldiers may tell. 

XV. — Extract from Speech at Springfield, Ohio, 

August 20, 1879. 

Mr. Speaker. — [Here the Speaker pointed to the 
clock on the wall, and said : " The five minutes of the 
Honorable member from Noble begins at 3 p. m. lie 
will please take notice of that." 

As Mr. Dalzell arose he had the attention of the en- 
tire House. Mr. Dalzell, bowing low to the Speaker, 
continued : I thank Mr. Speaker Neal for the kindly 
admonition, that the clock, like the vrorld, moves, and 
that '' while we take no note of time," it marks our 
progress in the great and mighty work of codifying the 
laws of Ohio. I thank the Speaker for this pregnant 
and suggestive text : Look at the clock! It marks 
three — pretty late in the afternoon — pretty late, I say, 
for tins legislature to be fooling away its time on reor- 
ganizing the board of public works. Thus, day by day, 
are the Democrats wasting the time of this house, while 
outside Democrats lie and lie to the people about codi- 
fication detaining us here. We have codified nothing 
yet but O'Connor, JefF Davis, and the public institutions 

of Ohio. This legislature, fitly named for O'Connor, 
14 



IGO MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

wastes all the golden hours of May in defending Jeff 
Davis and reorganizing the board of public works, and 
attempting to reorganize Dayton. Thus have v/e spent 
the last five days, at a cost of $5,000 to Ohio. 

I have watched the Democratic party policy, as a 
member here, two years. Fj'om the past, I am ;iuthor- 
ized to suppose we shall stay here till dog days in the 
great Democratic work of "codifying" the cities of 
Ohio. I don't wonder the Speaker points me to the 
clock. I point him and his party to that clock on the 
wall. Its upper dial marks three o'clock. Its lo-wcr 
dial marks May 14. Still you linger here disgracing 
Ohio with Democratic tricks and schemes to organize 
our cities in the interests of the Democratic party, the 
devil, and Jefferson Davis. It is that alone that has 
kept us here, and nothing else. All this talk of "codi- 
fication" is bosh. It is a lie. Not a word of codifica- 
tion have I or you heard here lo! these many days. 
Not one word. No wonder the Speaker points to the 
clock on the wall. 

It is high time, this 14th of May, wdicn all the people 
of Ohio are begging us to adjourn and go home, when Ave 
have stayed here longer and spent more money by thous- 
ands than any legislature ever did in Ohio, that we con- 
sult the clock on the wall. Where are the codifying 
bills? No man knows. No nnin cares. Tiiey are lost 
sight of. We never hear a word of them. Not one 
word. Yet the people of Ohio are to be stuffed with the 
lie that wo have remained here two hundred and fifty- 
seven days, at a cost of $257,000, to codify, ye gods ! the 
laws ! 

We have not spent over twenty full days at that. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 161 

Our whole time has been spent defending O'Connor, your 
leader, Jeff Davis, and the Democratic party, the devil, 
and gerrymandering Ohio, overturning, degrading, dis- 
gracing, polluting, destroying, prostituting, aye, burning 
our public institution 5. It is time to consult the clock 
on the wall. You have, by your legislation, degraded 
some of our public institutions to houses of ill-fame and 
prostitution. If that clock is not run down yet, it is 
certain that the patience of the people is well nigh run 
down. Yes, I look with the S})eaker and the House and 
the people at the clock on the wall, while we linger here 
to make offices for hungry and thieving Democrats, 
and for no other purpose, while tlie codification of 
the laws is wholly, every day neglected. It is high 
time our last hour had struck ; but we have not so much 
consulted the clock on the wall as the interests of the 
Democratic party. This Legislature drew its first 
breath in reorganizing schemes and infamy; it has 
dragged out all its long expensive days reorganizing, 
and now its last fetid breath is slowly going out in reor- 
ganizing Republican cities into Democratic hands. It is 
that which keeps us here, while the dial plate on the 
clock marks 3 o'clock, May 14. We are codifying the 
laws! What an infamous lie. No, sir; we are codifying 
O'Connoi-, Jeff Davis, the devil, and the Democratic 
party. We are at this moment codifying Democrats in 
and Republicans out, while the pendulum swings in the 
clock on the wall. Yes, sir; we are codifying Cincin- 
nati, while the clock on the wall marks the hour Avhen 
we sliouM go home. 

If that old clock there could speak, what a story it 



162 "my war SKETC11E8, ETC. 

could tell of two hundred and fifty-seven days of a 
Deruocratir, Lei^islature! I do not woiider the Speaker 
■points 1110 to the clock on the wall, ■\vl:ile every eye in 
Ohio marks the swinging of its pendulum and the revo- 
lution of its hours, hourly praying that the next may l)c 
the hour of the departure of the O'Connor Legislature. 
And behind that clock on the Avail, ^Ir. Speaker, behold 
the handwriting of the people on the wall. It i^ before 
all our eyes. Patience is ceasing to be a virtue. An 
organized political caucus may sit forever and concoct 
all manner of partisan schemes, and the people only 
smile if it costs the public nothing. But if it costs 
$1,000 a day, and purposes to itself no other object than 
to "codify"' Democrats in and " codil'y " Republicans 
out, the people can not and will not endure tho expense 
of such a caucus. This Legislature is such a caucus. 
Behold the clock on the wall, and the handwriting of 
wrath of 3,000,000 of angry people. Behold— [Here 
the gavel of the Speaker fell, Mr. Dalzcll's five minutes 
having expired.] 

XVI. — Extract from Address of Private Dalzell, 

First Grand Army Day, Cincinnati, October 27, 

1887. 

Mr. Chairman, Dear Old Comrades, Ladies, and Felloiv- 

Qitizens : 

The old Greeks had a beautiful legend that the stars 

as they circle in the heavens make music as they go, and 

that the reason Avhy we can not hear the symphony of the 

starry spheres is because of the grossness of our senses, 

and for no other reason. So it was that the great master 



MY AVAK SKETCHES, ETC. ](3o 

of liuman passions, Shakespeare, put the same idea into 
tlie lips of the devoted hjver, addressed to his girl : 

"Sit, Jessica: see how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gokl ; 
Thei'e's not a single sttir which thou behold'st, 
But in its motion like aii angel sings, 
Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubim." 

So, my friends, I have sometimes thought on occasions 
like these ^\c arc lifted up into an atmospliore out of our- 
selves until we can hear the divine harmony of the 
spheres. 

It was a famous saying of the lamented Garfield that 
our unconscious tilings arc our best things. And so it 
comes to pass vhen v.e least expect it. When we devote 
ourselves, as the Commander of the Department of Ohio 
said to-night, to the good of othei-s, it is then that we best 
serve ourselves. So that it might be stated thus, that 
they who serve others best, serve themselves best; and 
that the highest self-service is others' service, or service 
of others. 

But, my friends, I am not to forget, for the brief time 
allotted to me, the purpose for which I have been called 
to this platform. I am here to-night to take up and 
repeat ^words so eloquently expressed by your distin- 
guished Mayor of Cincinnati when he said — and it was a 
most impres.sive remark— that he never felt his weakness 
more than when he stood in the presence of the veterans 
of the Union, the scarred warriors of Grant, and of 
Sheridan, and of Sherman. I don't wonder that he 
should feel so, or that any man should feel so, or that I, 
my old comrades, should feel so to-night. 



1G4 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

I was summoned here to deliver an address, only on 
Monday morning last, and I have not prepared one, and 
I would do as Frederick Douglass used to say to his 
audience, I will try to give you back, ladies and gentle- 
men, as good as you give, and it* I get something good 
from you, I will send it back to you, and if I do not, I 
won't. I am relying largely on the inspiration of the 
occasion, the inspiration of the subject, for what I may 
have to submit to-night on the theme allotted to me, the 
Ciraml Army ; and, comrades, is n't that a grand theme to 
which I have been called ? It is one for which I feel 
wholly unworthy — v/holly unworthy, I say ; and someone 
else could have been found to fill this place much better 
than I. 

In briefly alluding to the subject to-night, I sliall only 
touch upon the hem of the garment of this argument. 
The subject is too large. 

The subject, then, assigned to me is " The Grand Army 
of the Republic" — its organization, the purpose for 
wdiicli it is organized, its present objects and aims. 

Why, my friends, I am reminded, Mr, Chairman, right 
at this point here, of a very fast young man, wlio had 
just emerged from college, and wdio took it into liis head 
be would delivei' a lecture, if he could only get somebody 
i'ool enough to listen to him, and so he announqed his 
subject, " Women, Napoleon, and the Devil." That was 
the theme upon which he was going to speak, and he 
never <i;ot throu<rh with (he women. That was more than 
he could handle. 

The subject is entirely too large for a single evening, 
even to someone much better acquainted wilh the subject 
than I pretend to be. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 105 

The Grand Army of the Republic — what a great 
theme it is ! It is an a^greiration of all the men who 
bore a more or less distinguished part in putting down 
the most infamous and wicked rebellion the world ever 
r;aw. I am not one of those who are willing to weep 
over the loss of the lost cause. I am one of those who 
believe that the lost cause is lost, justly lost, and lost 
forever, beyond all redemption, and beyond all reser- 
vation. 

I know there are good people within the sound, per- 
haps, of my poor voice here to- night, who may say, and 
who may think, just at this point here, that we have 
politics in the Grand Army of the Republic. When we 
cross the threshold of the Post room, we are simply 
comrades. When General Sherman comes into the room, 
he is comrade Sherman ; and when Corporal Tanner 
comes into the room, he is comrade Tanner. We are all 
equal there. 

Why, I am sometimes reminded of what is told in this 
regard of Clovis, after his campaigns in the Middle 
Ages, when he brought his mailed warriors about him, 
and brought out the rich spoils that he liad gathered 
from a hundred cities, and among the rest the old vase 
that was brouglit, sparkling with dianK)nds, rubies, and 
brilliants, from the old church at Rheims. And he set 
out the vase, and said he would take that vase to himself, 
because he was commander of the army, when a sturdy 
soldier strode from tlie battle ranks, and said : " W^ien 
you have fought your battles alone, and not till then, 
you will have earned all of the reward ; " and, raising 
his battle-ax, suiting the word to the action, he smote the 
precious vase to atoms, and dashed it down. Now, we 



IGG MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

have notliing of that kind in the Grand Army of the 
Republic ; you and I, dear comrisdes, never have done 
anything like that. There is glory enough for all — glory 
enough for the private, glory enough for the lieutenant- 
general, glory enough for the general, glory- enough for 
the corporal, and glory enough for all the army, and we 
hiive no quarrels about it. We are all e((ual, every man 
who worthily wore the blue, and did hi;; duty as God 
enabled him to do his duty; in the Grand Army of the 
Republic, he is C(|ual to every other man. 

It is worth that marks the grades of manhood; it is 
character that is the supreme consideration after all, not 
brilliant abilities; but character, and solid manhood, and 
worth, they couiit for as much in the Grand Anuj^ of the 
Republic as elsewhere. 

Now, my friends, you and I came down out of that war, 
and when the birds began to prepare to fill their nests in 
the mouths of our yet smoking cannon, and when the 
broken battalions of Lee had surrendered their arms to 
tlie victorious legions of Graut — I say, when you and I 
came down from the army, and you went off to your 
home, and I went off to mine, and met our sisters, and 
our mothers, and our wives, that were to be at the gate, 
and kissed th.cm with pride — after a while you began to 
feel a lonizin"; to hear from old Joe, and old Rill, and old 
Tom, and the rest of the boys. So we began to feel we 
would like to meet them again, and we had reunions in 
the little towns and larger ones all over the country, 
J>ut this was found not to be enough, and so somehow, in 
some way, the (hand Aiuny of tlie Republic sprang up 
like Topsy — it "just growed, it just growed up." 

Why, I remember, as one of the most interesting pas- 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 167 

sages in tlic historian Hallam's work, that he tries to find 
the origin of the common hiw. He tries to find the 
origin of the constitution of Enghind, and then, after 
having made fruitless search for it, makes a remark 
something like this : that to find the origin of these things 
is like searching for the sources (then unknown) of the 
Nile. 

The Grand Army of the Repuhlic Avas born in the 
hearts of the drummer hoys, the privates, the general, 
the colonels, and sprang up as Decoration Day. 

I noticed a little pamphlet they had around tells us it 
was the idea of an old soldier ; we won't rob him of the 
honor — a blessed old soldier in Iowa thinks he invented 
the Grand Army of the Republic. He might as well say 
he invented the sun as it shines in its course; he might 
as well think he invented and put in their places the 
sparkling patines that shine in the ethereal blue above. 

It was born in the hearts of the soldiers. It was born 
of tears, and of love, and of kindness, and of friendship, 
and of holy memories that we never, never can forget. 
There the Grand Army of the Republic was born. 

Now, then, we had to have principles in this Grand 
Army of the Republic. Why, we did n't have to have 
many of them. At first they were hardly formulated on 
paper. They are few, and they are so simple that the 
little boy who walks down the aisle at this moment could 
understand them if he wanted to. 

Why, what are they r Our worthy Commanders for 

the Departments of Kentucky and Indiana have already 

gone over these things, and I shall only touch them 

lightly. 

The Grand Armv of the Revrablic proposes brother- 
15 -^ I 1 i^ 



108 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

hood, fraternity — brotherliood among us all, and that we 
should be " brothers by the baptism of the banner — battle- 
scarred but glorious banner ; no church, no creed, no 
race, no nation can divide us, and whatsoever fate betide 
us, brothers let us ever be " (Miles O'Reilly). 

Wherever we meet a man who worthily wore the blue, 
and Avho was honorably discharged from service, he is 
our brother, meet him where we may. 

To-day I noticed that you had a number of intelligent 
and beautiful ladies here, representing the States, and I 
noticed them upon the platform here and was pleased to 
see that too, and certainly was pleased to see also the 
manifestations with which Cincinnati to-day has done her- 
self great honor in honoring the Nation's defenders. I 
was glad to see all these things ; I was glad to see the De- 
partment Commanders of various States, and the dear old 
comrades from different places. But, my dear comrades, 
we only come from one State. I don't care whether it 
it is the Department Commander from Indiana, Ken- 
tucky, or Ohio, whether it is the comrade from Tennessee, 
from New Yor1<, or from California, Ave all belong to one 
State. We did n't fight for Ohio. We fought as much 
for South Carolina and for Georgia and Kentucky, for 
Mississippi and Alabama and Louisiana, as we did for 
Massachusetts, Nev/ York, Pennsylvania or Ohio. We 
made the Union one and inseparable, now and forever. 

As Daniel Webster once voiced it in an address he was 
making to the young men at Al])any : " Now," said he, 
" young gentlemen, good evening, and may you all live 
forever and may the Constitution and the Union outlive 
you all." 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 1G9 

We have no North, we have no South, we have no East, 
we have no West. But we fought for the Union, and that 
i3 the reason why the Government of the United States 
ought to assume the hurdcn of taking care of these wrecks 
of humanity, the broken down soldier, broken by wounds 
and broken by disease. It is a shame, a crying abuse to 
have a lot of miserable politicians mouthing up and doAvn 
the country about a surplus. I tell these Democrats and 
Republicans and Prohibitionists and Laboring men — I 
will tell them what to do with that surplus. We saved — 
the Grand Army men saved the Nation from destruction. 
Who put that money there? The soldier. Not a single 
doHar is there in this Nation to-day, in the pockets of 
anybody in the Avhole North or in the whole South, not a 
dollar of it on the streets of Turin or London or other 
foreign cities in tlie pockets of American travelers, but 
was saved to them by the sacrifices of the defenders of 
the Union. Who found that money and who made it 
good ? It was the best blood of America. 

Talk of the politicians making the money good. It 
was the blood, the sacred blood of the boys in blue who 
died that the credit of the Nation might be good and that 
we might have a Nation at all. 

Talk about your surplus. Shame, shame that the old 
broken veteran to-night, in his patches and rags, and in 
his cabin and poverty, with blind eye, with broken health, 
and even as poor Garfield once said, Vvith a broken mind 
— think of it, my friends. What would you take for a 
finger; what Avould you take for a limb; but oh my God, 
what would you take for your mind ? One hundred and 
seventy-five thousand men incarcerated in rebel prisons 



170 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

came cut wrecks physically, wrecks mentally many of 
them. 

And now, then, we go about and talk about these 
things and try to make party questions. There is no 
party question in it. Distribute your surplus among the 
soldiers ! 

There is only one party in this country and that is the 
party of lo^-al men and loyal women. Not Democrats or 
Republicans; we won't have any other party in the 
United States than a party that will swear, by the eter- 
nal, the Union must and shall be preserved. 

I have no tears to shed, as I said before, over the lost 
cause. There has been a great deal of maudlin senti- 
ment expended upon it. When I was younger I used to 
dream of a reconciliation so perfect as to be embodied in 
a figure something like this : I saw a tall and stately 
maiden, with plaited hair and with blue eyes, and her fair 
jeweled fingers were held out, and I saw another dark- 
eyed maiden standing looking to the North, and moving 
her footsteps Northward, and stretching her jeweled 
hands, and I saw them meet and clasp each other around 
the neck and wet each other's cheeks with tears, and they 
covered each other's cheeks Avith their mutual kisses. 

But it is all fudge. I have not seen any thing of tluit 
kind happen. 

That is what wo want. The Grand Army of the Re- 
public has no hatred to the South. Our motto is, "With 
charity for all and malice toward none, doing the right as 
God gives us to see the right," compromising all ques- 
tions, leaving every miserable little, wretched, dirty, of- 
fensive partisan question out of our little post room, too 
sacred for politics, leaving them all out of tliere, com- 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 171 

promising on every thing except one thing, the American 
Union, now and forever, in the room or out of it. 

Why, somebody said to me, not in tliis room, but else- 
where, why this is all sentiment. It is. You are here 
to-night to honor a sentiment. This day, this Grand 
Army day was so grandly and fittingly inaugurated by 
the good ladies and gentlemen, the soldiers, and even the 
little children of Cincinnati to-day, as it will be remem- 
bered for a hundred years to come as one of the bright- 
est days that the Queen City of the West ever saw, in 
honor of its sentiments. 

Sentiment rules the world to-day. Sentiment built 
every church that you can find on the face of the globe. 
Sentiment brought the pilgrim fathers to these shores. 
Your flags sprang out of a beautiful sentiment. Your 
Union grew up out of a beautiful sentiment. Wasn't it 
a magnificent, wasn't it a sublime, a soul-stirring sen- 
timent with which the young EllsAvorth ran up the stairs, 
and pulled down the flag of treason, and trampled it un- 
der his foot, and 1)aptized his love for the old flag with his 
blood ? I say it was a grand sentiment. Some cool, cal- 
culating fellow would have said, how much money will I 
get for going up those stairs and pulling down Jackson's 
flag, or what will be the risk to me? 

Sentiment rules the world. Some believe physical 
force rules the -world. It does not. It has its place, but 
sentiment in its power is omnipotent and transcends all. 

In a moment, in the flash of an eye, as quick as the 
lightning from the dark sky above to the earth, in a moment 
the whole loyal American people were aflame for a senti- 
ment, and they said — By the eternal, this government 
must become all one thing or all the other. It must be- 



172 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

come all slaves or all free, and that sentiment went on 
and triumphed, and in the fires of war the shackles Averc 
loosed from the limbs, of these dusky millions, and they 
sprang up in the sunlight of freedom and stand there en- 
en franchised and free to-night. The soldiers did it; the 
soldiers did it all, by the help of loyal women and loyal 
men of the North standing at their backs. 

I take no stock at all in any mourning over the lost 
cause. If I ever rear a monument to it it shall be one 
sulphurous and dark. I save my tears, not for the lost 
cause, but for the three hundred thousand brave young 
men, the brightest and most beautiful men of my genera- 
tion, who went down in the red fire of war, that the gov- 
ernment of the people and by the people, and for the 
people, might not perish from the earth. 

I save my tears for these. I save my tears for the 
widow in her weeds, in her loneliness and despair, -whose 
husband, broken down by suffering in rebel prisons or on 
fields of battle, wounded, pined and died, and left her 
there alone with the little ones and poverty and misery. 
I save my tears for you. I have no tears for the lost 
cause. 

I save my tears for the old one-legged and one-armed 
veteran, Avho goes about the world the wreck of the man 
that he ought to be, and would have been, but for the 
^\nx. I save my tears for these. 

I save my tears for those who have been struggling 
vainly for years, and are glad to find a rest at last in the 
soldier's home, or in the green tent in the silent valley. 
I save my tears for these. I have no tears to shed for 
the lost cause. 

It is a sickly sentimentality. It is illogical and un- 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 173 

reasonable. It is unpatriotic and untrue. We have 
nothing to mourn for the h)st cause. When the lost cause 
from the brimstone depths of eternal hell is dug up and 
lifted, I can only hold my nose. I have no veneration for 
the lost cause, or for any man who supports it. 

The people in this country must be taught that there 
is a difference between politics and loyalty. That a man 
can be very loyal and love his flag, and love his consti- 
tution devotedly, and keep true faith and allegiance to 
the laws and constitution of the land, and respect the 
President of the United States, and yet hate treason and 
traitors. 

Show me an unshriven traitor and he is my deadly 
enemy to-day. Show me a repentent rebel and he is my 
friend, and I will shake hands with him, not across " a 
bloody chasm," but across my ow'n hearth-stone, and will 
welcome him to it. 

Those I understand to be some of the principles of the 
Grand Array of the Republic, and how do you like them ? 
Arc not those pretty good principles ? 

One of the purposes of the Grand Army of the Re- 
public is for us to meet and strike hands, and, as boys 
would say, have a good time, and shake hands under the 
shadow of the old flag, baptized with the blood of the 
best men the world ever saw. Oh, was n't that a beauti- 
ful thought of Goethe, speaking of Schiller, when he 
said he loved to always think of Schiller as having died 
in his youth, fair and young, and beautiful forever. 

And now they stand, the three millions of those who 
went to that war, and there they stand, the three hundred 
thousand who never returned — some who died in their 
bloody shirts, and some who found their deaths at the 



174 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

mouths of merciless Lloodhounds and still more merciless 
men, and some who died and passed away in a single flash 
of glory on fields of war. There they stand. I see their 
beardless faces before me, young and beautiful, crowned 
in the hallowed love of everlasting fame and immortalit3^ 
I can think of nothing more beautiful, more endearing 
than this. 

By these sacred shades, we say, to-night : If any man 
attempts to tear down the Am.erican flag, we will shoot 
him on the spot. 

Why, do you not know this, my old comrades — some 
of these comrades know it better than I can tell — that no 
man that ever stood under the stars and bars can ever 
enter a Grand Army Post — never. Before he can get in 
there, a soldier must swear that he was never a traitor. 
Why, I knew one man, a noble fellow, and I could cry 
for him to-night if it would do any good, that fellow was 
one of the best rebels I ever saw. But he was wrong, 
always wrong — as every rebel was wrong, you know — and 
he could never enter a Grand Array post. 

There never was any rebel right. Every rebel was 
wrong. Every pulsation of the fiendish, dastardly, cow- 
ardly, traitorous heart of Jeff. Davis, from beginning to 
end, Avas wrong, and it is wronc; to-nio-ht. 

Do you know what that rebel flag means, old friends, 
you who Avere not in the army? Ask these boys in blue, 
Avhose luiir is turning gray with the frosts of the coming 
Avinter, Avhose eyes are turning dark Avith the shadoAvs 
soon to be; ask them Avhat this rel)el flag means. They 
Avill tell you that one morning in the sunlight, after they 
themselves IkkI received the accolade for the dear old 
flag, the star-spangled banner, they looked across the 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 175 

hills, and there, behind the frowning cannon and long 
lines of men in gray, tliej saw the cross of St. George, 
the hated stars and bars, the standard of the lost cause. 
They hated it then and they hate it now. If our conti- 
nent was ten thousand times as big as it is, Ave would not 
tolerate anv flao- upon it but that one. 

Every one of its silver stars shines in the blue throne 
above to represent a State in the American Union, not 
one out, not a single one. That is our flag; that is the 
flag of the Grand Army of the Republic ; that is the flag 
that was baptized in the blood of the best men the world 
ever saw. 

Oh, comrade, bear with me a moment. I want to say 
to you and to these gentlemen present, something I have 
never forgotten to say and never will until this breath shall 
fail me forever. You arc not as good men as they were, 
and I am not. The man does not live that is as good as 
the men who died for the flag. Is that saying too much? 
You risked your life, it is true, but mark what Lincoln 
said. He drew the line right ; he drew it philosophically ; 
he drew it correctly. They gave the last full measure of 
their devotion that " the government of the people, by the 
people and for the people," might not perish from the 
earth. And in dying they >vrested these rebel flags 
from rebel hands, and, by the eternal, the sunlight shall 
never see them. 

That ain't politics, is it? That ain't politics. Now, 
that is what the Grand Army of the Republic teaches us. 
I would like to see some fool bring a rebel flag into one 
of our Post rooms, or even in a camp of the Sons of 
Veterans. The boys wouldn't hurt anybody, but they 



17G MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

would take tlic thing and put it in the fire, to say the 
least of it. 

I have sometimes wondered why men could love the 
lost cause. AVhy, I would let it go down, down, down, 
until it sunk into its native hell, and is covered up and 
forgotten forever and forever. 

We want no lost cause reverenced in this country, we 
Grand Army boys, and we will have none of it. 

Where did they get that standard of treason ? Why, 
I have sometimes thought, when I read Milton's pictured 
battle in heaven, that, when the contest was had in the 
battlements of heaven between the fallen angels and the 
Almighty and his host, that the standard that Satan carried 
there was hurled with him from those battlements when 
he was finally overcome and cast to hell, and that the 
rebels picked it up ; and I have sometimes thought that 
that was where the banner of the lost cause came from. 

Now, if that is strong doctrine, I can't help it. That 
is what these Grand Army boys have been teaching me 
for the last twenty-five years, anyhow. And if that ain't 
Grand Army truth, I don't know Grand Army truth. 

Now, we have charity. "Oh, ho!" my friend of the 
lost cause, if he was here, would say, " charity, and yet 
you talk so ugly about the rebels?"' No, sir; we have 
not an angry word to say, not an angry feeling, but all 
we want them to do is to keep their contract, made when 
we whipped them — for they swore that they would sub- 
mit, or we would not have let them up. We want them 
to abide by the settlement that they made under the 
a.pple-treo at Appomatox, and, by the Eternal, they shall 
do it. That is another principle and purpose of the 
Grand Arm)? of the Republic. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 177 

Why, we want to perpetuate this nation. We old 
fellows are soon to fold our arms, and lay ourselves in 
the dust, but these young fellows are coming on, and 
when we hand this flag of ours to them, and this Q-rcat 
and growing country of o-urs to them, we want them to 
remember what it cost to save their country and to save 
their flag, and we want them to keep it flying forever. 

As Bishop Simpson said once for the young ladies, on 
their presenting a flag to a regiment just going to the 
war, " Now," said he, " boys in blue, take that flag, ruiil 
it just below the cross — that is high enough — and keep 
it there, and never take it down." 

Wasn't that a beautiful sentiment? That is the sen- 
timent of the Grand Army of the Republic. I know it 
is often said, " This is all sentimental." It is senti- 
mental, and, as I said before, this sentiment rules the 
world. Why, ask some of these veterans here, and they 
w"ill say their love is nothing but sentiment, and their 
wives rule them; and is n't that sentiment ruling, too? 
I can prove it that way without going very far av»"ay 
from home. 

Now, my friends, I have talked about long enough, but 
I want to say a word about charity. That is one of tlie 
principles of the Grand Army of the Republic. 

Charity toAvard each other. Where is there a man 
without a fault ? If you can find one, let him cast the 
first stone ; and he will be the first man that ever did 
cast one of that kind. We have to have charity with 
each other and toward others, and so the Grand Army 
of the Republic inculcates charity ; it inculcates loyalty 
and devotion to our country and our country's cause. 

My friends, God bless you ! I thank you for the 



178 MY WAR (^KETCHES, ETC. 

Avelcome you have given inc to-night. I ask you, old 
coairadcs, to increase your ranks ; bring in every sohlier 
in Hamilton county wlio is not a member of the Grand 
Army of the Republic ; bring him in, and keep him 
there ; stand by the flags and the principles of your 
order ; encourage the Ladies' Relief Corps, and they ■svill 
encourage you ; encourage the Sons of Veterans, and 
they Avill help you ; and, by and by, old boys, when the 
day is done, when our tasks are finished, we shall lie 
down, not, like fallen slaves, cursed to our rest, but 
" sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust" in the 
dear old banner and in the dear old cause, " And the 
niglit shall ho filled with music, and the cares that infest 
the day shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, and shall 
silently steal aAvay." 

[The speaker then closed by calling for three cheers 
from the soldiers present for the Grand Army of the 
Republic, the dear old flags, and for the loyal ladies of 
Cincinnati, which were given standing.] 

XVII. — Private Dalzell's Soldier Circular, 

Caldwell, Ohio, Becemhcr IG, 1887. 
Comrade: — Some days ago I published an account of 
the Ohio legislation in favor of soldiers, in tlie Kew York 
Tribune, and in our oAvn great oi'gnn, Tlie National 
Tribune, which has been extensively copied and com- 
mented upon by the American newspaper press, and re- 
})roduced already in England, France, and Germany, as 
I liapj)en_ to know. It has aroused a profound interest 
among the dear comrades all over the North, and elicited 
from them so many letters of inquiry that I am com- 



MY WAIl SKETCHES, ETC. 179 

pelled to take this metliod to reply. I could not possibly 
respond to all Avitli the pen. 

The laws of Ohio simply provide for the levying of a 
tax of three-tenths of a mill on the dollar on all the prop- 
erty in the state, to raise a fund for the relief of indigent 
soldiers and their families. This goes into the county 
treasuries, and is drawn out by commissioners in each 
county, appointed by the court, tv,'o of whom are soldiers, 
and paid directly to the soldier or his famil}-, in all cases 
of distress. No papers are employed; all is done orally; 
no delay is possible ; no attorney is permitted to have 
any thing to do with it, and no expense is incurred. 
Could any thing be more simple or beautiful ? This law 
I desire to see enacted in every state this winter. It is 
late in the day, but better late than never. Dying time 
has nearly come to most of us. We are mostl\^ poor. 
The general public has an idea of the amount of suffer- 
ing, privation, and distress which the soldiers and their 
families are now called upon to endure, and which they 
bear so silently and patiently that no one except them- 
selves knov.s that it exists. They are not noisy anarch- 
ists or fanatics, but as brave to suffer as they were to 
dare and to do. This alarming state of things is daily 
on the increase — ten-fold worse in 1887-1888 than in 
any previous years, for diseases multiply and increase in 
violence, and wounds grow more disabling every year, 
and have nearly reached tlieir climax of death. 

Now, my object in all I have done and am doing — a 
poor, broken-down old soldier myself, illy able to bear 
the labor and expense thus voluntarily assumed by ray- 
self — is to prevail, if possible, upon the comrades in all 
the states to move at once upon their legislatures and 



180 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

newspapers, and give them no rest until every state, from 
sea to sea, shall have laws on its statute books as 
patriotic and generous as those of Ohio, which, here let 
me say once for all, are not half what they ought to be, 
but better than none ! They are susceptible of many 
amendments yet. 

Divided, we can do nothing. United, we are omnipotent 
in American politics. We hold the l)alance of power in 
every state, county, township, and municipality. 

Let us exercise it for once, and touch elbows, and 
charge all along the line — no stragglers, no deserters, no 
coffee coolers, no sneaks, but all as 07ie man. ^Ye num- 
ber a million, though that will not long be true. We are 
melting away like melting snow. 

It is now or never. 

But we must co7nbine, combine, COMBINE. 

That done, all is done. 

The politicians then must obey us, or step down and 
out of office. To this end, therefore, I submit a form of 
oath which I have taken, and which I abjure every com- 
rade to register in heaven for himself before the first day 
of January, 1888, and keep if, as I shall keep it, even as 
we all kept the oath of service, the solemn sacrament 
of the flag ! " I do solemnly swear, in presence of 
Almighty God, that I will never, directly or indirectly, 
give political support to any candidate for office who this 
winter, in any legislative body, state or national, as a 
member thereof, or as executive, shall fail to support any 
bill or measure granting pensions, relief, bounty, or re- 
pealing limitations, or in anywise benefiting honorably 
discharged Union soldiers or their families. So help me 
God." 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 181 

Print thousands and thousands of these oaths, and 
scatter them in all the states. At the same time, I 
counsel you to forward these oaths as fast as sio-ned to 
your senators, members of Congress, state legislators, 
governors, and the President. 

These will be more potent and significant than a thou- 
sand petitions, to be read, laughed at, referred, and 
pitched ignominiously into the waste-basket, never again 
to be thought of. When you lifted your hands before, 
and took the oath that " the government of the people, 
by the people, and for the people, should not perish from 
the earth," that oath you solemnly and religiously ob- 
served until it was redeemed, and the Nation's life saved 
by your courage and self-sacrifice. Keep this oath now, 
comrades, and forget it not when you stand at the polls 
with your all-powerful million votes in your hands. 
Forget it not. 

The politicians, instead of laughing at it, will turn 
pale and tremble before it, for it is clothed with the 
power of the thunders and lightnings of heaven. After 
recording that oath on earth and registering it in heaven, 
have no further concern about legislation. It will come 
as naturally and as surely as the summer rain follows 
the lightning's flash ! It is simply idiotic to send up any 
petitions. Send your commands, not prayers ! 

We have tried turf long enough. 

Let us imitate the old farmer, who, at length, Avas 
forced to resort to stones. Away with petitions to Con- 
gress and the legislatures ! Faugh ! They would only 
laugh at them. Let them deride or disregard this fearful 
oath if they dare. No party cry will save the candidate 
who scorns and disregards this significant appeal. xVsk 



182 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

your newspapers to publish this and your comment 
thereon. 

Only those editors who were not soldiers, and those 
"who are, and always ^vcro, your enemies, will refuse a 
respectful request for space for this patriotic purpose. 
All others will publisli it v/ith editorial comments. To 
be frank, this is our only hope. Unless the press co- 
operates with us, the legislatures and Congress, and even 
the President, will not heed our appeals. 

They have the Ohio soldier laws in all their libraries, 
and will reproduce them in their newspapers. Do this, 
do it at once, republish this circular, add to it, change it 
in any way you please, and move in a solid phalanx, as 
you did at Gettysburg, Atlanta, and Appomattox, and 
before the springtime returns vvc shall procure all needed 
legislation. Your comrade, 

Private Dalzell. 



XVIIL— Poems. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

You may sing of the Blue and the Gray, 
And mingle their hues in your rhyme, 
But the Blue that we wore in the fray 
Js covered with glory sublime. 

80, no more let us hear of the Gray, 

The symbol of treason and shame — 
We pierced it with bullets — away I 
Or we'll j)ierce it with bullets again. 
Then up with the Blue and down with the Gray, 
And hurrah lor the Blue that won us the day ! 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 183 

Of the rebels who sleep in the Gray, 

Our silence is tilting alone; 
We can not atford them a bay, 
A sorrow, a tear, or a moan. 

Let oblivion seal up their graves 

Of treason, disgrace, and defeat; 
Had they triumphed, the Blue had been slaves, 
And the Union been lost in retreat. 
Then up with the Blue and down with the Cray, 
And hurrah for the Blue that won us the day ! 

Of the rebels whom our mercy still spares 

To boast of the traitorous tray, 
No boy in the Clue thinks or cares, 
For the struggle is ended to-day. 

Let them come as they promised to come, 

Under Union and Loyalty too; 
And we'll hail them with fife and with drum, 
And forget that they fired on the Blue. 
Then up with the Blue and down with the Gray, 
And hurrah for the Blue that won us the day ! 

As they carried your flag through the fray. 

Ye Northmen, ye promised the Blue 
That ye'd never disgrace with the Gray 
The colors so gallant and true. 

Will ye trace on the leaves of your souls 

The Blue and the Gray in one line. 
And mingle their hues on the scrolls 
Which glorify Victory's shrine. 
And cheer for the false, and hiss at the true, 
And up with the Gray and down with the Blue? 

Let the traitors all go if you may, 

(Your heroes would punish the head,) 

But never confound with the Gray 
The Blue, whether living or dead. 

16 



184 MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

Oh I remember the price that was paid — 
The blood of tlie brave and the true — 
And you can never suffer to fade 
The laurels that cover the Blue. 
Then up with the Blue and down with the Gray, 
And hurrah for the Blue that won us the day ! 



iNTROSrECTA. 

Two pair of eyes to see, 
One pair without, and one 

To scan the world within, 
By man are seldom won. 

The ox has eyes to see 

The straw on which he tramps, 
But in that mammoth bulk 

There burn no spirit lamjos. 

Man alone has power to gaze — 
And lew men even this — 

On Beauty's charms, and feel 
Electric romance, bliss ! 

This is the eyne I love. 
The power to look within. 

To fill the empty air 

With visions bright akin 

To the higher forms and molds 

So transubstantial broad 
The glowing bust divine 
. Of Beauty, Music, God. 

To hear anthems poaling 
The spirit aisles all through, 

Till the heart quakes with joy, 
Stirring, sublime, and true. 



MY W'AR SKETCHES, ETC. 185 

I see the shapes in the night 

No other ej^es can see ; 
I hear strange voices ring 

In accents full of glee. 

And pale groups of ghosts 

Around my pillow flit, 
And I wake from ghostly dreams 

" To many a musing fit." 

I feel the touch of hands 

No other mortals feel ; 
And fight, with demon arms. 

Hosts mailed in more than steel. 

I talk familiar with 

The spirit of Perfect Life, 
And see her footsteps strike 

From earth its toil and strife. 

The dusty toil and drag 

Of a weary life, and poor, 
I would not lengthen out a day, 

Compelled to live a boor. 

But sometimes it seems to me 

'Twere better I were dead, 
Than drink at founts of joy 

By the heart's red current fed. 

For these passion lamps must drink 

The being's ripest oil. 
And end its flickerings all 

With life of aimless toil. 

Burn on, ye lamps within, burn 

Till ye burn the spirits down ; 
Then ashes fly in Fate's cold face, 

And tell her I was not a clown! 



18G MY AVAR SKETCHES, ETC. 

Come, ye cold eternal winds, 

And flap your wings into my face, 

For sooner shall it cool not 
In time's tempestuous chase! 



EVAN F. DARDINE.-^^ 

A painter of scenes, of crimson-stained scenes, 

Of the hills of Virginia, her camps and her streams, 

A right royal soul, and a kindred one too, 

An artist, a soldier, in Abraham's blue; 

Let me rhyme of thy genius and courage, and tell 

What I pray all the muses to aid me do well, 

Inscribing these lines from the depth of my heart 

To the young imitator of nature and art. 

I honor the skill of your pencil and brush ; 

From the morning's first dawn to the evening's last flush, 

Your sketches of camp-life and battle-death too, 

Are tinged with devotion to " Red, White, and Blue; " 

For the liglitningof war is often thy lamp. 

While the thunder of battle resounds through the camp, 

And a seat on a mountain while bombs burst around. 

Is the place where the Artist must often be found. 

An honor, a blessing through all these sad wars. 
Is the pencil baptized in the temple of Mars, 
And the drawings of forts, of sieges and camps, 
Will glow in the future like magical lamps. 
That poets, historians, and statesmen may see 
The scones that transpire in "tlie land of the free;" 
Thy pictures reflecting this era of strife, 
All glowing, immortal, and real as life. 



*My old comrade, of whom I wrote the above a quarter of a century ago 
nearly, now lives in honor in Wheeling,- W. Va. 



MY WAR SKETCHES, ETC. 187 

The mother and sister, with h)ve's anxious eye, 
Still tearful and sad as when biddiuii "good-bye," 
Are gazing with pride on these pictures of war, 
Asa maiden would gaze on some sweet chosen star. 
This, this is a recompense due to thy name, 
A life full of honor, and glory, and fame, 
A place on America's glorious scroll, 
Which ages shall treasure as onward they roll. 



MOTHER'S PRAYER FOR HER SOLDIER BOYS. 

An old man sits in his easy chair 
His eyes grown dim with years, 

And the frosts of age are on his hair; 
His cheeks are wet with tears. 

The old man sits in his lonely chair. 

His wife is long since dead; 
His heart is full ot an eclioing prayer. 

The last on earth she said ! 

" My two brave boys in thy mercy spare, 
God, if it be thy will ; 
Wherever they may be to-night, there 
Thy goodness guard them still." 

Her spirit fled to the far sweet land — 

Her boys had gone before; 
Up from the battle reaching a hand 

To greet her on that shore. 

The old man sits in his lonely chair, 

His wife is long since dead; 
His heart is full as it echoes the prayer 

The dying mother said. 



7^^~1^^ 








PAriT III. 



John Gray, of Mount Vernon, 



THE LAST SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 



Born near Mt. Vernon, Va., January 6, 1764. 
Died at Hiramshurg, Ohio, March 29, 1S68. 

AGED 104 YEARS. 

(189) 



Dedication. 

To the Old Dominion, the birth-place of John Gray^ 

and to Ohio, where his sacred ashes rest, and to the 

American people, Avhom he loved, and for whom he 

fouo-ht, this memorial of the last soldier of the revolu- 

tion is respectfully dedicated by 

James M. Dalzell, 

Caldwell, Ohio, 3Iaij 1, 1888. The Author. 

(190) 



JOHN GRAY. 191 



A roEM. 



One by one the several links have started, 

Bonds that bound us to the sacred past; 
One by one our patriot sires departed, 

Time has brought us to behold the last; 
Last of all who won our early glory, 

Lonely traveler of the weary way, 
Poor, unknown, unnamed in song en- story, 

In his western cabin lives John Gray. 

Deign to stoop to rural shade, sweet Clio! 

Sing the hero of the sword and plow; 
On the borders of his own Ohio, 

Weave a laurel for the veteran's brow, 
While attuned until the murmuring waters 

Flows the burden of thy j)astoral lay. 
Bid the fairest of Columbia's daughters. 

O'er his locks of silver, crown John Ciray. 

Slaves of self and serfs of vain ambition — 

Toilful strivers of the city's mart, 
Turn awhile and bless the sweet transition, 

Unto the scenes that soothe that careworn heart, 
Turn with me to yonder moss-thatched dwelling, 

Wreathed in woodbine and wnld-rose spray ; 
While the muse his simple tale is telling, 

Tottering on his crutclies, see John Gray. 

When defeat had pressed his bitter chalice 

To the lips of England's haughty lord — 
Bowed in shame the brow of stern Cornwallis, 

And at Yorktown claimed his bloody sword; 
At the crown of the siege laborious — 

At the triumph of the glorious day, 
Near his chieftain, in the ranks victorious. 

Stood the youthful soldier, brave John Gray. 
17 



192 JOHN GRAY. 

While he vowed through peace their love should burn on- 

While he bade his tearful troops farewell, 
One alone unto thy shades, Mount Vernon, 

Called the chieftain with himself to dwell; 
Proud to serve the father of the Nation, 

Glad til hear the voice that bade him stay, 
Year by year, upon the broad plantation. 

Unto ripened manhood, toiled John Gray. 

Sowed, and re;ined, and gathered to the garner 

All the summrr plenty's golden sheaves — 
Sowed and reaped till Time, the ruthless warner, 

Whispered through the dreary autumn leaves: 
" Wherefore tarry? Freedom's stars are o'er thee; 

Winter frowneth ere the blush of May; 
Lo! is not a goodly land before thee? 

Up and choose thee now a home, John Gray." 

Thus he heard the words of duty's warning, 

And he saw the rising Empire-star 
Dawning dimly on the Nation's morning — 

Guided westward Emigration's car; 
Heard, and saw, and (juickly rose to follow, 

Bore his rifle for the savage prey. 
Bore his ax, that soon in greenwood hollow 

Timed thy sylvan ballads, bold John Gray. 

Blessed with love liis lonely labors cheering, 

Blithe the hearthstone of that forest nook. 
Where rose his cabin in the "clearing," 

Near the meadow with its purling brook ; 
Where his children from their noonday laughter 

Turned at eve and left their joyous play, 
Hushed and still, when the great lun-eafter 

Si)ake the Christian father, meek John Gray 

Oh, the years of mingled joy and sadness! 

Oh, the hours — the countless hours of toil, 
Shar(Hl alike through sorrow and through gladness 

By loved hands now ninldering in the soil! 



JOHN GRAY. 103 

Oh, the anguish stifled in the shadow 

Of the gloom that l)Oi-e her form away ! 
'Neath yon mound she slumbers in the meaaow, 

Waiting, meekly waiting thee, John Gray. 

All day long upon the threshold sitting. 

Where the sunbeams through the bright leaves shine — 
Where the zephyrs, through his white locks flitting. 

Softly whisper of " the days lang syne." 
ITow he loves on holy thoughts to jjonder; 

How his eyes the azure heaven survej'. 
Or toward yon meadow dimly wander — 

Yes, beside her shall sleep, John Gray. 

In the tomb thy comrades' bodies slumber — •, 

Unto heaven tlieir souls have flown before-; 
Only one is " missing" of their number, 

Only one to win the radiant shore, 
Only one to join the tacred chorus, 

Only one to burst the bounds of clay; 
Soon the sentry's trumiiet sounding o'er us. 

To their rank shall summon thee, John Gray. 

Peace be with thee — gentle spirits guard thee, 

Noble type of heroes, now no more! 
In thine age may gratitude reward thee, 

In thy need may bounty bless thy store; 
Care of woman, gentle, true, and tender. 

Strength of manhood be thy guide and stay; 
Let not those who roll in idle splendor, 

To their shame forget thee, lone John Gray. 

Five-score winters on thy head have whitened — 

Five-score summers o'er thy Ijrow have passed; 
All the sunshine that the pathway brightened, 

Clouds of want and hardship:) have o'ercast; 
Thus the last of those who won our glory, 

Lonely traveler of the weary way. 
Poor, unknown, unnamed in song or story, 

In his western cabin lives John Gray. 



194 JOHN GRAY. 

Three more years of weai'iness and aging, 

Of growing wealcness, yet of patience strong; 
Years of strife with penury waging, 

Till a grateful nation rights neglected wrong. 
Live now, John Gray, enjoy thy meed of glory, 

A grateful people soothes thy weary way ; 
Alas! five-score and five! here ends my story, 

For in his western cabin died John Gray. 

Beneath the willow in the flowery meadow, 

Whei'e daises bloom and clover scents the air, 
Kissed by morning sun and twilight shadow, 

Is a grave intrusted to dame nature's care; 
Here, full of years, the long march ended, 

A weary soldier at life's closing day, 
One wlio with men in gallant strife contended, 

Beside his western cabin sleeps John Gray. 

Sleep on, but not forever, weary mortal. 

No bugle call shall rouse thee for the fray ; 
But trumpets' voice, irom heaven's open portal, 

Shall summon thy dust from earth away. 
Where stands the Chief to welcome thee in glory; 

Where, in the brightness of celestial day. 
All earth's great ones, unnamed in song or story, 

With golden crowns, are waiting thee, John Gray. 



Chapter I. — Introduction. 

It seems as though there is an element of hero wor- 
ship in every one, and I confess to a full share of it. 
My hero is a private soldier. Having embarked in this 
line so early in life, and after devoting a quarter of a 
century and more to elaborating it in ever}^ form in the 



JOHN (JRAY. 195 

public press, it seems to me that I can see but one 
course for me to pursue, and that is, on, right on in the 
line in which I have started. In the year 18G8 I Avrote 
and published some memories of John Gray, the last of 
the " men of '76 " to leave us, which work was received 
with much interest. Asi<le from the many copies sold, 
copies were placed in most of the more prominent libra- 
ries in this country. Two thousand copies of this work I 
published at my ow'n expense. When the edition be- 
came exhausted, there seemed to be no demand for a 
second edition, until this centennial year of Ohio's his- 
tory, Avhich has revived interest in such matters, and 
has demanded a new, and enlarged, and revised edition, 
which is now sent forth with the modest hope that its 
pages may be read with interest. In 1876, Hon. F. "W. 
Green, Secretary of the Ohio Centennial Commission, re- 
quested me to furnish him with a copy of my original 
history of John Gray for exhibition at Philadelphia. As 
I had placed copies in the principal libraries in the 
country, I had no difficulty (though the book Avas then 
out of print) in forwarding a copy according to his re- 
quest. This copy he suspended by a ribbon just inside 
the main entrance of the Ohio house, and there it hung 
until the close of the Exposition, was inspected with in- 
terest by millions of people during this time, and re- 
turned to me by Mr. Green, w'cll thumbed, about No- 
vember 15, 1876, accompanied by the following grate 
ful acknowledgment : 



196 JOHN GRAY, 

Philadelphia, Pa., November 13, 1876. 
Hon. J. M. Dalzell, Caldwell, 0. : 

Sir: — I send you by express to-day your book and 
picture of John Gray, and a few copies of our catalogue, 
and the address of E. D. Mansfield on " Ohio." I regret 
that I was absent when you were here. 
Very truly yours, 

F. W. Green, Secretary. 

When I conceived the idea of venturing this revised 
edition, in response to what I believed to be a popular 
sentiment favoring it, I wrote to my old fi-iend (and the 
friend as well of our departed hero), lion. John A. 
Bingham, our venerable ex-congressman, the greatest 
orator Ohio ever produced, and so long our distinguished 
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary at 
the Court of Japan, asking him what he could recollect 
of John Gray; and, in reply, he honored me with the 
following graceful and eloquent tribute to our vene- 
rated hero : 

Cadiz, 0., Fehruary 22, 1888. 
My Dear Mr. Dalzell : 

In reply to your kind note of the 20th instant, wherein 
you request my recollections of Mr. John Gray, a pat- 
riot of our Revolutionary War, I regret to say that I 
had but one interview with that venerable man, who, at 
that time, had attained the great age of one hundred and 
four years. I visited him at his home in Noble County, 
0., accompanied by a friend, who had knoAvn him for 
years, and who regarded him as a man of truth and strict 
integrity. 

I was much impressed with Mr. Gray's conversation 



JOHN GRAY. 107 

concerning his early life in Virginia, where he was born, 
and the statement of his services, while yet a youth, in 
the war for American independence. Satisfied that Mr, 
Gray had served tlie sacred cause as a private soldier of 
the Virginia line, and that he participated, in that ca- 
pacity, in the final conflict at Yorktown, I did net hesi- 
tate to draft and introduce the bill of which you speak,' 
granting him a pension — which bill, I am pleased to say, 
passed the House of Representatives with great una- 
nimity, and was promptly passed by the Senate. You 
doubtless have a copy of this act. It is most gratifying 
to record the fact that in his last days this aged patriot 
was not forgotten, and was made happy by the generous 
acknowledgm.ent of the Nation's gratitude. 
Very truly your friend, 

^ John A. Bingham. 

J. M. Dalzell, Esq., Caldwell, Noble County, 0. 

But, before proceeding further, I consulted also the 
opinions of many of the most distinguished men in the 
Nation — among them Governor J. B. Foraker ; Governor 
Beaver; Samuel Bowles, Jr., editor of the Springfield 
(Mass.) Republican ; Governor Young, of Ohio; R. B. 
Hoover, Springfield, 111. ; Colonel J. D. Taylor ; Frede- 
rick Douglass ; General Joseph R. Hawley, of Connecti- 
cut; Colonel James Washburn; General R. T. Buckland ; 
Hon. W. S. Capellar; Judges Knowles, and Lawrence, 
and Phillips, Generals Brown and Gibson, of Ohio; 
General Harrison, of Indiana; Ex-Governor Foster, of 
Ohio; Rev. T. J. Dague, my pastor at Caldwell, 0.;' 
General N. P. Banks ; Ex-President R. B. Hayes ; Sen- 
ator Sherman; Hon. Wm. R. McKinley ; Generals Leg- 



198 JOHN GRAY. 

gett, Conger, Cov.'an, Lee, Dawes, Robinson, Grosvenor, 
Hickenlooper, Devens, and Butler, and Corporal Tanner; 
besides thousands of the rank and file in all parts of the 
country, from Maine to California — and from them, one 
and all, received such hearty encouragement, that I ven- 
tured to proceed. And the result is before the reader. 

Chap. II. — IIow I Became Interested in Joun Gray. 

My first knowledge of John Gray dates back to the 
year 1847, when, as a boy, I was growing up on my 
father's farm in the same neighborhood. My earliest 
recollections of him are associated with muster days, 
mass meetings, and Fourth of July celebrations, when a 
number of venerable men — ex-soldiers of the war for 
independence — were invited to conspicuous seats upon 
the platform. John Gray was always seen to be among 
them. These, however, were commonplace affairs, and, 
even among his nearest neighbors, very little was known 
concerning him, except the bare fact that he had seen 
service, which was sufiicient to fill my boyish mind with 
wonder. A quiet, unassuming farmer, without avarice 
or ambition, there was nothing in his outward life to 
attract public attention. In this capacity, he was sober 
and industrious; as a citiz n, quiet and unostentatious; 
as a Christian, earnest, faithful, and devout, and, thougli 
six miles from any churcli, he was always there when- 
ever possi1)]e, and Avas invaria])ly one of the first present 
whenever the itinerant preacher of those days would 
announce service at any of the farm-houses in the neigh- 
borhood. But, though hard-working, he was always 
poor, and, as he grew older, found himself in great 



JOHX GRAY. 199 

danger of coming to -want. In these later days, his 
strength having in a meapnre failed, rendering him un- 
able to -work, he spent much of his time in reading his 
Bible in quiet devotion. During these declining years, 
he lived mostly alone, with his step-daughter, Xancy 
McElrov. a ladv also of advanced as^e, and unmarried. 
From the rental of his little farm, supplemented by a 
cow and garden, cared for by themselves and the kind 
attention of thoughtful neighbors, they managed to keep 
the wolf from the door, and, by a mere trifle, to escape 
the journey " over the hill to the poor-house.'"' 

Apart from this, no one seemed to pay any attention 
— certainly he received no public recognition, all seem- 
ingly forgetting, at least ignoring the fact that he had 
been one of those who marched at the front at the time 
that tried men's " souls,'' and who, in the sacred cause 
of freedom, so dear to every American, took upon him- 
self, under the leadership of our own loved Washing- 
ton, the deliverance of our heritage from the hands of 
our oppressors. In politics he was, by his religious con- 
victions, trained and developed in the Methodist Episco- 
pal Church, an uncompromising Abolitionist, and when 
that extremist party collapsed, lie became a staunch Re- 
publican. As such, he took a lively interest in the w-ar 
of the rebellion, and many were the prayers that as- 
cended from that cabin hearth for the success of the 
Union cause. If it seems strange, that from the begin- 
ninfr, I have taken such an interest in John Grav's his- 
tory, I explain this by saying that John Gray was my 
neighbor in Ohio for well-nigh twenty years, and that I 
loved the old man as if he had been my father. I ad- 
mired him — Y>ho could help it — for his rare and excellent 



•200 JOHN GRAY. 

qualities of mind and heart. I loved him, because he 
had foufrht for the same flag; that I had, and I loved him 
because he was so much like "Washington — plain, simple, 
honest, and good. 

I bow down not to genius and rank ; I worship only 
the heroes of the true and good. He was such a hero. 
His name should not and can not rot in oblivion. Through 
all coming time his name will be like that of Washing- 
ton. I looked upon him as preserved through four gen- 
erations to show his children and his children's children 
what a noble type of men were our revolutionary fathers. 
lie was a worthy sample of that good old stock. Ask 
the people of Ohio and they will tell you that there never 
lived in Ohio a better man than old John Gray. He was 
always a poor man and a Christian. He never attempted 
any kind of speculation or business, but literally earned 
his bread by the labor of his hands as a farmer all his 
life. For four-score years he was a consistent member of 
the Methodist Church, and never missed a single Sabbath 
from church when it possible to attend. He joined 
church at twenty-five. He lived a sober, regular, and 
industrious life, in so much that he was for half a cen- 
tury and more a model of piety to his church in a degree 
not excelled by any of his brethren in Christ. His 
hours of rising, working, and sleeping were regular as 
the clock. He retired early and rose before the sun. 
Seldom is any Christian permitted so long and so well to 
be a " living epistle known and read of all men." More 
than thrce-scoi'e and ton years he lived to adorn the doc- 
trine of the Savior by a daily walk with God. Schooled 
as he was in that pure and honest school which made 
Washincton a good man, learninfii; his lessons from the 



JOHN GRAY. 201 

father of tlie church and state who formed that beautiful 
system of government under which we live, John Gray 
was ever a model man. Not one man was ever heard to 
doubt Jolm Gray's sincerity as a Christian and as a 
patriot. On visiting the old man, he said to us, in reply 
to the question "why he enlisted so young." "I lived 
and was born near jNIount Vernon, the home of Washing- 
ton ; how could I do otherwise?" Such an answer 
speaks volumes for the old patriot. 

Chap. III.— Early History as Gleaned From Himself. 

He was born at Mount Vernon, Virginia, January 6, 
1764. He was but a mere boy when the war began, and 
his father being in the army, he, the oldest of ciglit 
children, remained at home to help support the family. 
He said that he and his brother w^ould go to the forest 
and fields to catch rabbits, and that was all the meat that 
they had. At one time he worked a whole week at plow- 
ing for two bushels and one-half of corn. His father fell 
at White Plains, and he, then only about 16 years of age, 
promptly volunteered, took up the musket that had fallen 
from his father's hands, and carried it until the war was 
over. He was in a skirmish at Williamsburgh, and was 
one of the one hundred and fifty men on that dangerous, 
but successful expedition of Major Ramsay. He was 
also at Yorktown at the final surrender, which event oc- 
curred in his eighteenth year. He w^as mustered out at 
Richmond, Virginia, at the close of the war, and returned 
to field hibor near Mount Vernon, his first day's work 
after his muster out being performed for General Wash- 
ington at Mount Vernon. Mr. Gray married twice in 



202 JOHN GRAY. 

Virginia and once in Oliio, He survived his three wives 
and all his cliildreu, except one daughter, who has since 
died over eighty years of ago, and with Avhom he resided 
in Noble County, Oiiio, at tuo time of liis death. Let it 
be borne in mind that John Gray vras not illiterate. His 
parents were poor, and lived with much difficulty by their 
daily labor, but they took pains to give John the best 
education at their command. John could read a,nd write 
when he went into the army. He said about the greatest 
pleasure he had wliile in the army was in writing home 
to his poor old widowed mother. He told me that he 
went to school two winters to Joseph Ross, a gentleman 
wiio kept school at his own house, about four miles from 
where John lived. He used to be up bright and early, 
chop wood, kindle the fire, feed the stock, and be off on 
his four mile of a m.orning walk to school, before seven 
o'clock in tlic winter tinae. Little did he or his teacher 
think tliat these humble studies that he then pursued 
were to 1)C useful to him for well nigh a hundred years 
of after lii'c. Certain it is, that, for the last ninety years 
of John Gray's life, the little reading and writing that 
he learned of Joseph Ross were John Gray's greatest 
comforts. He read but few books, but with great care, 
and renieml)ered almost every word. The Bible, Pil- 
grim's Progress, the Plain Man's Pathway, and the Con- 
stitution, he could repeat off the book, almost word for 
Word. !*\)r more than three-quarters of a century, aftc* 
the close of the war of the Revolution, John Gray lived a 
life of quiet and retirement upon or near the banks of the 
beautiful Ohio. He left his native Virginia, the banks of 
the Potomac, the home of his childhood, in 1795, the state 
for which he had done battle service in no less a cause 



JOHN" GKAY. 203 

than the independence of that state. He left her because 
she denied and refused the right of suflirage to those of 
her sons Avho liad not " caught Dame Fortune's golden 
smile,'" and made his home ^vllere — 

"An honest man tlio' e'er so pool' 
Is king ol men, ior a' that." 

lie wended his way over the mountains and rivers, 
through the then almost unexplored wilderness of what 
is now West Virginia, and coming out on the borders of 
western civilization, at Morgantown, Va., he constructed 
a rude craft, on Avhicli he descended the Monongahela 
to its junction with the Allegheny, and thence down 
the Ohio to the flats of the Grave creek. Here he made 
his first settlement, and entered with ardor upon the du- 
ties of frontier life, having for his companions in toil, 
privation, hardship, and frontier warfare such men as 
the Poes, Wetzel, Hughs, Wheeler, Boone, Kenton, and 
others, who have made their names conspicuous in the 
annals of the Avest. Time rolled on, and the beautiful 
region " north-west of the river Ohio " was, in the year 
1802, erected into a state, and John Gray, after changing 
his residence once or twice, settled down on the waters 
of Duck creek, a tributary of the Ohio, witliin the pres- 
ent limits of Noble (then Washington) county, in the new^ 
free, and prosperous state of Ohio. Here, for nearly 
three-score years and ten, he lived and labored. He 
lived to see the almost unbroken wilderness "blossom 
as the rose," and Ohio proudly take position, the thiid 
state in the American Union. He lived to see men born 
upon the soil grow up and take the highest positions, mil- 
itary, civil, and ecclesiastic, in the land — men of whom 



204 JOHN niiAY. 

any state or nation might well be proud. He lived to 
Avitnc'ss the most -wonderful achievements of science of 
any age or any nation in his own country. He saw the 
majestic steam-boat take the place of the frail canoe 
u[)on her lakes and rivers. He saw the giant locomo- 
tive drag the ponderous train over the highest peaks of 
tlie Alleghenies, through tunnels under mountains, over 
rivers and plains, through forests and prairies, and to 
tlie very summit of the Rocky mountains. He lived to 
see the inventions of Franklin and Morse distance time 
in the transmission of intelligence from London to New 
York, and, crossing the continent to San Francisco, re- 
turn the answer to New York just as old father Time 
reached the shores of America. 

Chap. IV. — John Gray Secures a Pension. 

During all this time John Gray had neither sought 
nor obtained from the government any recognition or" 
his services in the war of the Revolution. Never rich, 
indeed poor in purse, he was yet too proud to ask a 
richly-merited annuity, and it was not till the frost of a 
hundred winteis had whitened his locks, and age, de- 
crepitude, and want invaded his citadel, that he gave a 
reluctant consent for his friends to apply for a pension. 
In 18GG, while a law student in Washington, D. C, I was 
in correspondence with Matthew^ McClear}^ Esq., -.vho 
lived at Iliramsburgh, Ohio, almost in sight of the old 
patriot's cabin. He was deeply interested in the venera- 
ble hero, and often wrote to me in his letters concerning 
him. I had just passed through the war of the rebel- 
lion myself, and \vas now better able to sympathize with his 



JOHN GRAY. 205 

deplorable condition than in my younger and boyhood 
days. I made several inquiries of my friends about him, 
and soon found myself intensely interested in his condi- 
tion, and began to 'svrite him up in all the available ne^vs- 
papers, and. to besiege Congress, then in session, to bestow 
•what I believed to be a worthy pension, that he might not 
become a common pauper, then a likely thing. Most of 
these communications found their way to the Avaste bas- 
ket, or Avere ridiculed by the clever paragraphcrs. Con- 
gress, as a matter of course, paid no- attention to 'my 
appeals. Some of my communications, however, found 
their way into print. One of these, published in the 
Waver! ^ Magazine, of Boston, in December, 1866, is 
given in full, as follows : 

''The Last 3Ian of the EevoJution." 
"By the report of the Commissioner of Pensions, but 
one of the revolutionists is now living. The immortal 
army of AVashington, all but one solitary veteran, has 
gone to the grave ! The honor of the old guard has been 
suu'' by more than two billions of human tongues that 
long since have gone to the dust. And yet this old hero 
lives on to hear a new billion of tongues trumpeting the 
fame of the arrny of which he is the only living repre- 
sentative. In the third generation, he is still living to 
see the glory which Wasliington and his comrades 
achieved by valor and patience. But the v»'riter knows 
of one revolutionary soldier Avhose name was never on 
the pension roils of the United States : John Gra}?^, noAV 
103 years of age,wdio resides with his daughter in Noble 
county, Ohio. He was born at Mount Yernon, Virginia^ 
J;inuary 6, 17G4. He was but a mere boy when the war 



206 . JOHN OKAY. 

began, and his father being in the war, ho, the oldest of 
eight chihlren, remained at liome to help support the 
family. He says that he and his brother would go to the 
forest and fields to catch rabbits, and that was all the 
meat they had. At one time, he worked a Avhole week 
at plowing for two bushels and one-half of corn. Ilis 
father fell at White Plains, and ho, then only about IG 
years of age, promptly volunteered to take up the mus- 
ket that had fallen from his father's hands, and carried 
it until the war was over. He was in a skirmish at Vv^ill- 
iamsburgh, and was one of the one hundred and fifty 
men on that dangerous but successful expedition of 
^lajor Ramsay. He was mustered out at Eichmond, 
Virginia, at the close of the war, and returned to field 
labor near Mount Vernon. Mr. Grny married twice in 
Virginia, and once in Ohio. He survived his three wives 
and all bis children, except one daughter, who is now 
nearly eighty years of age, and with v.hom he resides in 
Noble county, Ohio. He has always been a poor rinui 
and a Christian. He never attempted any kind of spec- 
ulation or business, but has literally earned his bread by 
the labor of his hands as a farmer all his life. For 
seventy-eight years he has been a consistent member of 
the Metliodist Church, and never missed a single Sabbath 
from church when it v>as possible to attend. He joined 
church at twenty-five. He has lived a sober, regular, 
and indu.-itrious lii'e, in so much that he is now, ar.d has 
been for half a, century and more, a model of piety to 
his churcli in a degree not excelled by any of his 
brethren in Christ. His hours of rising, v/orking, and 
sleeping -are regular as the clock. He retires early and 
rises before the sun. Seldom is any Christian permitted 



JOHN GRAY. 207 

SO long and so well to be a living ' epistle known and 
read of all men.' More than three-score and ten years 
has he lived to adorn the doctrine of the Savior, by a 
daily walk with God. Schooled as he was in that pure 
and honest school which made Washington a good man, 
learning his lessons from the father of the church and 
state who formed that beautiful system of government 
under which we live, John Gray has ever been a model 
man. Not one man was ever heard to doubt John Gray's 
sincerity as a Christian and a patriot. On visitin^^ the 
old man recently, he said to us, in reply to the question 
Avhy he enlisted so young : ' I lived and was born near 
Mount Vernon, the home of Washington ; how could I 
do otherwise?' Such an answer speaks volumes for the 
old patriot." Also, I published about the same time the 
following little poem, which attracted some attention : 

THE LAST MAN OF THE REVULUTION. 

In the chill and snow of winter, 

A dark and bitter night, 
While the wind is mourning sadly, 

Like a lone and ruined sprite, 
In a cottage in (Jhio 

A poor lonely man 
Sits counting o'er the hundred years 

Since first his life began. 

In that cabin is one window 

With a broken many a pane. 
Through which the snow keeps drifting 

With all its might and main ; 
And the old man sits and shivers, 

For his fire is very low, 

And his blood has lost tlie fervor 

(^f a hundred years a<ro. 
18 ^ = 



208 JOHN GRAY. 

His gray head bows in sadness, 

His prayer is murmured low, 
But God can hear him now as well 

As a hundred years ago. 

Call the roll of the noble old heroes 

Who battled at Washington's side, 
And only this voice in the cabin 

Will answer— for all the rest died 
In poverty, sick, in distress, and alone, 

Forgotten, neglected, yet he 
Adorns the fair banner he fought for of yore, 

And prays for the " Flag of the Free." 

These, with others, I had copied and sent to every con- 
gressman, and followed theui up with earnest letters and 
personal appeals to Hons. John A. Bingham, Ben. Wade, 
Benj, F. Eggleston, Speaker Colfax, Senator Willson, Chas. 
Sumner, and Thaddeus Stevens, all of whom received me 
courteously, and some of them expressed themselves 
more emphatically than piously with reference to the old 
veteran having been neglected so long. Accordingly, on 
the first day of the second session of the Thirty-ninth 
Congress, December 3, 18G6, Hon. John A. Bingham, a 
member of the House of Representatives from the six- 
teenth district, than whom Ohio has not a brighter star 
in her galaxy of living statesmen, arose in his place and 
introduced House Bill No. 835, for the relief of John 
Gray, a soldier of the Revolution, which Avas read a first 
and second time, and referred to the Committee on In- 
valid Pensions. (See page G, Congressional Globe, sec- 
ond session, 39th Congress.) On Thursday, December 
13, 18G6, ten days after the introduction of the bill, Mr. 
Mclndoe, from the Committee of Revolutionary Pen- 



JOHN GRAl'. ceo 

sions, reported back, with a recommendation that it do 
not pass, House Bill No. 835, for the relief of John Gray, 
and the hill was laid on the table. (See Congressional 
Globe, second session, 39th Congress, page 3=) Nothing 
daunted, the patriotic and indefatigable Bingham, after 
introducing the most incontestible proofs of identity of 
which the case wouki admit after the hipse of so many 
years, in which the old patriot had " outlived the genera- 
tion born with him," on Fridaj^, January 25, 1867, suc- 
ceeding in getting a bill reported (No. 1,044), by Mr. 
Price, from the Committee on Revolutionary Pensions, 
" for the relief of John Gray, which Avas read a first and 
second time. It directed the Secretary of the Interior 
to place the name of John Gray on the pension roll at 
the rate of $200 per annum, payable semi-annually."' 

" Mr. Delano, of Ohio, inquired whether the bill had 
the approbation of any committee." 

He was answered by Mr. Price, " that it had the ap- 
probation of the Committee on Revolutionary Pensions." 
" This applicant," said Mr. Price, " is one hundred and 
three years old, and I have another similar case to re- 
port, in which the applicant is one hundred and seven 
years old (referring to the case of F. D. Bakeraan, of 
New York, since deceased), and both these men are sup- 
ported by public charity." 

Mr. Spalding, of Ohio, moved to amend the bill by 
striking out "two hundred dollars" and inserting, in 
lieu thereof, five hundred dollars, and the amendment 
was agreed to. The bill was tlien ordered to -be en- 
grossed, and it was accordingly read a thii-d time and 
passed. 

" Mr. Bingham then moved to reconsider the vote by 



210 JOHN GRAY. 

which the bill passed, and also moved to lay the motion 
to reconsider on the table. The latter motion was agreed 
to." (See Congressional Globe, second session, 39tli 
Congress, page 754.) 

On the same day, January 25, 18G7, a message was 
received in the Senate from the House of Representa- 
tives, by its chief clerk, Mr. Lloyd, announcing, among 
other things, that the House had passed Bill No. 1,044, 
for the relief of John Gray, a Revolutionary soldier, 
which, with others, was twice read by its title, and re- 
ferred to the Committee on Pensions. (See Congres- 
sional Globe, second session, 30th Congress, page 754.) 

On Wednesday, January 30, 1807, in the Senate, Mr. 
Lane, from the Committee on Pensions, reported, with- 
out amendment, House Bill No. 1,044, for the relief of 
John Gray, a soldier of the Revolution. (See Congres- 
sional Globe, second session, 39tli Congress, page 853.) 

On February 14, 1867, " in the Senate, on motion of 
Mr. Lane, the Senate, as in Committee of the Whole, 
proceeded to consider House Bill No. 1,044, for the re- 
lief of John Gray. The bill directs the Commissioner of 
Pensions to place the name of John Gray, of Noble 
county, Ohio, upon the pension roll, and that there be 
paid to him the sum of five hundred dollars, payable 
semi-annually during his natural life, commencing on 
July 1, imCK 

Mr. Lane said : " The bill, as it passed the House, was 
wrongfully drawn. I move to amend it by striking out 
the words ' Commissioner of Pensions,' and insert Secre- 
tary of the Litorior, so as to make it conform to our leg- 
islation." The amendment was agreed to. (See Con- 



JOHN GRAY. 211 

gressional Globe, second session, 39th Congress, page 
1309 et seq.) 

The bill was reported to the Senate, as amended, the 
amendment concurred in, and ordered to be engrossed 
and read a third time. The bill was then read a third 
time and passed. 

On the 15th of February, 1867, the bill, as amended 
and passed in the Senate, was sent to the House, where, 
on the motion of Mr. Price, the amendment of the Sen- 
ate was concurred in. (See Congressional Globe, second 
session, 39th Congress, pages 1262 and 1275.) A mo- 
tion to reconsider the vote concurring in the Senate 
amendment was laid on the table, and a message sent to 
the Senate, announcing that the House had passed Bill 
No. 1,044, for the relief of John Gray, a Revolutionary 
soldier. 

In the House of Representatives, on the 16th of Feb- 
ruary, 1867, Mr. Trowbridge, from the Committee on 
Enrolled Bills, reported that the committee had found, 
upon examination. Bill No. 1,044, for the relief of John 
Gray, a Revolutionary soldier, truly enrolled by its 
proper title ; whereupon, the Speaker signed the same. 
(See Congressional Globe, second session, 39th Congress, 
page 1285.) On the same day, a message was received 
in the Senate, announcing that the Speaker of the House 
of Representatives had signed the bill as engrossed, and 
thereupon it was signed by the President pro tem. of 
the Senate. 

Thus John Gray was placed on the pension roll at the 
rate of five hundred dollars per annum. In the mean- 
time, I had written to Governor J. D. Cox, of Ohio, call- 



212 JOHN GRAY.' 

ing attention to the matter, from wliora I received the 
following letter, Avhicli indicates the spirit with which 
those in authority regarded the matter at this time : 

State of Ohio, Executive Department, 
Columbus, February 2, 1867. 
Dear Sir: — Yonrs of the 29th ultimo is received, and 
the letter to the Slate Journal has been delivered. ]My 
duties are inconsistent with my acting as the trustee of a 
fund for the benefit of any private citizen, and I must beg 
you to find some business man or firm of known charac- 
ter, in the vicinity of the residence of the veteran, John 
Gray, of the Revolution, to do that work. It would in- 
volve a good deal of correspondence, which only could be 
intelligently done by those who are near enough to be 
personally cognizant of the w\ants and necessities of the 
old patriot. Earnestly sympathizing with the spirit which 
induces your action, I am 

Very respectfully yours, etc., 

J. D. Cox, Governor of Ohio. 
J. M. Dalzell, Esq. 

To say that I was happy over the final result, is but a 
poor and feeble way to express it. I fairly boiled over 
with delight, and could scarcely contain myself at all, 
after the triumph which had been achieved in behalf of 
the old veteran, and the sudden turn pul)lic opinion had 
taken in his favor. The clever paragraphers, who had 
ridiculed me, and the stupid editors, who had throw^n my 
communications into the waste-basket, now filled their 
columns with eulogies of John Gray, and were very ready 
to extend to him the sympatliy now no longer needed. 



JOHN URAY. 21-J 

Many of the leading editors of the country now Avrote 
me concerning the particukirs of his life, and their com- 
munications Avere always respectfully considered, and the 
facts thus became widely puldished.. Among others, 
Frank Leslie wrote me to procure and send to him a 
photograph and historic sketch of the old patriot, Avhicli I 
did, and which he printed in fine style, in the Frank Les- 
lie s lllwdratcd Kewspaper, one of the finest illustrated 
papers in the world. I placed copies of this on file in all 
the leading libraries, and preserve one to this day, among 
my own selected relics, with religious care. 

It is time to prove the leading statement of this his- 
tory — namely, that John Gray Avas the last soldier of the 
Revolution. That he was a Revolutionary soldier is 
proved elsewhere in this book ; but here we are to show 
that he was the last Revolutionary soldier. Two days 
after the pensioning of John Gray, February 18, 1807, 
Samuel Downing, of New York, was placed on the Revo- 
lutionary pension roll. From the report of the Commis- 
sioner of Pensions for the year 1807, it appears that the 
names of John Gray and Samuel Downing only remained 
upon the roll ; the rest were dead. Of that noble band 
of patriots, they alone survived. Late in the fall of 
1807, Samuel Downing died at Edinburgh, Saratoga 
county, N. Y. John Gray still lived, unquestionably the 
last soldier of the Revolution, till the 29th of March, 
1868, when he died. The soldiers of the Revolution are 
extinct. 

"This was the noblest Roman of them all — 
The last of all the Romans. Fare thee well! " 

Wishing to be entirely certain in the matter, I v/rote 



214 JOHN GRAY. 

to tlie Commissioner of Pensions at Washington, I). C, 
to settle tliis. He replied with an indorsement on my 
letter, stating that " John Gray, of Ohio, and Samuel 
Downing Avere the only two left. The question came 
up, is Samuel Downing dead ? If he is, then John Gray 
is the last soldier of the Revolution, beyond a doubt." 
So I w^'ote, and received the following letter, which settles 
tlie question forever : 

Post-office, Saratoga Springs, 
April 16, 1868. 
Sir: — In answer to your letter of the 12th instant, I 
have to say that Samuel Downing died last fall, at his 
home in Edinburgh, this county. 

Yours respectfully, 

M. A. Pike, F. M. 

[Note. — It will be remembered that John Gray died 
afterward, March 20, 1868, and was, therefore, the last 
survivor of the Revolution And thus the question is 
settled forever,] 

The following from the Pension Office, which was at- 
tached to the Centennial copy of the first edition, fixes 
also the same fact : 

Department of the Interior. 
Pension Office, June 14, 1876. 
J M. Dalzell, Caldwell, Ohio. 

Sir : — Yours of the 9th inst. is received, requesting in- 
formation as to Avho was the last surviving pensioner who 
served as a soldier in the war of the Revolution. As it 
may bo of public interest in the centennial year, you 



JOHN GKAY. 215 

will have annexed the names of the hist survivors on the 
pension rolls, with llieir age, date of death, residence, 
and so much of their military services as they gave in 
their applications for pensions. 

J. A. Bextley, Coniuiissioner. 
J. M. D.VLZELL. Esq., Caldwell, Ohio. 

Waldo, Daniel. — Born in Windliam, Conn., September 
10, 1762, and died July 30, 18G4, aged 102 years. He 
entered the service in June, 17711, and December 20, 1780, 
at Horse Neck, in the .south- east corner of Connecticut. 
Colonel Levi Yv^eiis, himself, with twenty others, were taken 
prisoners by refugees, carried to New Yoidc Cifcj', and con- 
fined in the notorious Sugar House. After the war, studied 
for the ministry ; a Presbyterian clergyman ; officiated in 
Lebanon and Suffield, Conn., particularly at the latter place, 
for nuiny years. In 1837, removed to Vy ayno count}*, then 
to Owondago county, where lie deceased. At the session 
of Congress for 1855-6, wiu-n the Hon. N, P. Banks, after 
a protracted sti'uggle, Avas elected Speaker of the House 
of Representatives, Mr. AValdo was appointed chs plain 
to it, the duties of which he faithfully performed, besides 
repeatedly oiBciating in the clnu'chcs in the city on the 
SaiJjatli, his age at the time being over 93 3'ears. 

Hutchins, William. — Born in York, Maine, in 1764, 
and died May 3, 1866, aged 102 years. He enlisted at 
New Castle, Maine, 1780-1, in the Massacliusetts regi- 
ment commanded by Colonel Samuel McCobb. The 4th 
of July previous to his decease, he attended the celebra- 
tion of that day at Bangor, in which lie was an active 
participant. 

Downing, Samuel. — Died February 18, 18G7, age un- 



21G JOHN GRAY. 

known. In 1828, resided in Edinburgli, Saratoga 
county, New York, and, it is understood, died there. 
His military service was in one of" the New Hampshire 
regiments. 

Gray, John.— Born in 17G4, and died jSIarch 20, 1808. 
While residing in Fairfox county, Virginia, he enlisted, 
in 1781. Removed to Ohio in 1795, and has lived in 
Noble county since 1829. 

BIRTHDAY ODE ON THE LAST SOLDIER OF THE REVO- 

LUTIOX. 

Nearly a Imndred years ago — 

A hundred yoars to-day — 
Qui- fathers rn<>t tlie Ihitish foe; 

In that imniortiil I ray. 
At Yorktown then old .lohn Gray stood, 

Gave Britain her hist blow, 
And struck to drive the British off, 

A hundred years ago. 

Nearly a hundred years ago, 

( >ur hero in his jiriine ; 
But now liis head is white as snow, 

His limbs grow weak with time; 
But let us gather around John Gray, 

The last man imw alive, 
And uot forget tiiis glorious day 

Make him one hundred and five. 



CiiAP. V. — My Last Visit to John Gray. 

The success of my efforts to see the old hero comfort- 
ably fixed naturally awakened a renewed interest and a 
desire to visit him once more at his home. So, on a 
bright day i'l June, 18(57, I visitctl John (Jray, of Mount 



JOHN GRAY. 217 

Vernon, Va., for tlio last time. I felt a d^ep interest in 
the old hero, because I knew liiin lono; and well, but 
chiefly because I knew he was the last living man who 
could say of a truth — 

"I have shaken hands with Washington, and fought 
under him. I was born at Mount Vernon, and Avas his 
Avana personal friend." 

I know no mortal man exce})t John Gray could say 
these words. I sought for his history. lie had a his- 
tory worth knowing. To fill out the volume of our 
colonial and Revolutionary history only one name more 
was left; it Avas the name of John Gray, of Mt. Vernon. 
But to get his history was no easy task. He had been 
a common man. Ilis deeds Avere not in print. Only 
from his lips could I gather up the raveled threads of his 
life. To him, tliercfore, I Avent, and to his neighbors; 
iuid from them gleaned the fragmentary points presented 
in tliis volume. If tlie reader Avill read as patiently as 
I have Avritten, he Avill lay doAvn this book satisfied that 
John Gray Avas the last survivor of Washington's array. 
It' the reader finds any discrepancies or contradictions, 
let him remember t!iat the field from Avhicli I gleaned is 
one a hundred years old, grovrn over thickly Avith Aveeds 
of forgetfulness, and covered, for the most part, Avith the 
fog of oblivion. J:)lin Gray did not figure in public 
life. lie Avas a pl.iiu man, like Lincoln. From such a 
life it is hard to gather strange incidents. I give the 
facts as I got them from time to time from an old man 
nearly in his grave. He had no Avritings. He had no 
records. You can see John Gray's humble connection 
Avitli great events, Avithout putting on n;y glasses, so I 
merely drop these facts. You may elaborate. I deal 



1218 JOHN GRAY. 

^vith points. You may detail, I profess to tell tlie 
Avoi'l'l a iiew and wonderful story of a wonderful old mati. 
This is all I claim. I point to the evidence in the acts 
of Congress, and in the letter of the governor of Ohio. 
A vast crowd of witnesses attest the truth of this his- 
tory. The proof is plain. It is given in fragments. 
You can pick them out. It vvill interest you as story 
n2ver intereste<l you before. Such is the plan of this 
liistory of the last man of the Revolution. A plain tale 
of truth. If I take iuy ovni way of telling the old man's 
st()ry, you ca)i not blame me after you have heard it. 

Washington is in tlio clear upper sky, and John Gray, 
iiis last fioldier, has joincil him in the land of spirits. 
Kighty-nine years ago W^ashington died; John Gray died 
Miirc.h 20, 18G8. Washington was the first soldier of tlie 
llcvolution, Joliii Gray vtas the last soldier of the llcvo- 
lution. The whole army had died before John Gray 
died. Alone John Gray remained as a venerable monu- 
ment of that noble generation. Washington was a Vir- 
ginian, Jolni C;iY\xy was a Virginian too. Washington Avas 
a patriot and a Chri^.tian, so w;is -lohn Gray. Washing- 
ton fought for our liberty and indepen.dence, so did John 
Grav. One after anotlicr the Revolutionary soldier,-! 
dropped off, until Jolin Crray alone survived. Like the 
sentinel of Pompeii, John Ovnj remained sublimely res- 
olute at his post of duty until God had removed all his 
.'ompanions in arms by death, and then he folded his 
]i:in:1s quietly over his ])atriotic heart and fell asleep in 
lesus, in his lO-Jtli year. Washington's home wns Mount 
Vernon. John (ii-ay's birtliplace was Mount Vernon. 
It uould seeiM as if this coincidence vrorked a charm to 
preserve John Gray alive. It would seem as if to be 



JOIIX GRAY. 210 

born at Mount Vernon v.-crc to iulierit immortality, as of 
one btithed in tlic fabled stream whose waters were said 
to confer immortality. It seemed as if born at Mount 
Yt-riion iie could not die. And here we submit mate- 
rial for a grander histor)' of John Gray, for this history 
is nil Kiiiic/vn Ixnildcr of (mill. 

Wlioever may hereafter visit jSIount Vernon, let him 
remember tluit Washington's last soldier was born upon its 
ample acres. Let him remember, too, that John Gray 
was a dear ])crson;d friend of Washlnii'ton. That hand 
crumbling to dust in that wdiite coffin there has often 
pressed the hand of John Gray. Wherever h.crertfter 
you go about the dear sliades of Mount Vernon, i-emem- 
ber iJuit John Gray's stursly arm felled trees here, and 
his skillful hand helped to adorn }dount A^eiaion for his 
chieftain's eye. Vv^ashington little thought, when hist he 
pressed the liand of his soldier John Gray, that John 
Gray was to outlive liim by nearly tln-ee generations, 
and speak his fapae to another century. Vv^ashington was 
only thirty years older than Jolm Gray. Ilis ch:;nces to 
live as long as John Gray seemed fair and flattering. 
But John Gray outlived his diief well nigh three-quart- 
ers of a century. It is of this wonderful old man this 
book speaks. His fame should keep company with the 
venerable fame of Washington forever. W:!^llington, the 
first soldier — John Graj-, the last soldier. AVorthy every 
way is John Gray of a place beside the name of Wash- 
ington, for his life was pure and good. Tlie volume of 
the history of the Kevolution remained open till John 
Gray died. The volume now closes. Tliis Ijook finishes 
the history of the Revolution. Noihing more remains 



220 JOHN GRAY. 

but that we forever revere the memory and imitate the 
virtues of such men as Washington and John Gray. 
I\Iy last visit to Mr. Gray, as before intimated, was in 
June, 18G7. At this interview I w:is determined, if pos- 
sible, to get more definite information in regard to his 
parentage and early life. My friend Matthew McCleary, 
of Noble count}^ Ohio, was with me. I transcribe the 
notes whicb I tben and there made of that interview. I 
am sorry I could not make them more full and accu- 
rate. Let future historians do so. It is my duty to 
give these facts just as Jolin Gray gave them to mo, 
without addition. Near Tliramsburgli, Ohio, in the midst 
of a meadow, is a cabin ; in frojit of the door is an old- 
fashioned well ; on the bill just above, and in full view, 
perhaps two hundred yards ofi', is a little enclosure groAvn 
over with Avceds, where sleep the remains of John Gray's 
people. As I approached tlie cabin, the old man's dog 
ran out and barked fiercely at me. As I entered the 
cal)in, a sweet girl of perhaps fourteen years met me 
with a smile and invited nie in. There before me stood 
John Gray on his crutches, an old man, the oldest I ever 
saw and the most I'cverend. On his crutches leaning, 
his hair failing in snowy showers about his shoulders; 
bis hands lai'ge, foi' he had lived by hard labor; his feet 
as sniall as a woiiuurs ; he was five feet eight inches 
high ; broad, very broad of chest, and with a massive 
bead of perfect symuictry. lie looked up at me with 
his two sweet, blue eyes and smiled. lie was not ugly. 
His smile made him look handsome. His voice ti-einbled 
a little but was pleasant; a subdued and musical treble 
like that of a child. I expected him to sit down ex- 
hausted. He had been moving about on his crutches, 



JOIIX GRAY. 221 

and Avas indeeil tired. Bat, on flitting down, lie at once 
began to talk to us. His dog walkeil around and lay 
down quietly l5eside Mr. Gray, tlie sentinel of the old^ 
revolutionist. Thus appeared John Gray in his 105th 
year, in his home in Noble county Ohio. Doubtless art- 
ist< Avill yet set the picture in a b2autiful frame in the 
Capitol of the Nation, and tlius for the first time do honor 
to a private soldier. I came in. The old man looked 
up, and hardly knew me at firse. My friend, Matthew 
McCleary, Estp, called to the old man, and told him -who 
I was. Instantly he recognized me, and reached out 
that hand which had so often grasped the hand of "Wash- 
ington. I seized his hand and kissed i*, and felt that I 
was blessed to have the privilege. The old man's hearing 
was quite dull, and his eyesight very dim. But he could 
both sec and hear a little. lie told me he was five feet 
eight inches high, though as he sat doubled up in an old 
man's way, he appeared much shorter. lie had grown 
heavy but by no means corpulent. lie laughed as T i-e- 
marked that he was not much fatter than he was the last 
time I had met him. '' Oh, no," said he, laughingly, ^ we 
old men don't fiitten much on hog and hominy, and the 
poor tobacco vre get now-a-days." He had a large spit- 
toon by his side — a wooden box that would hold half a 
bushel — contents thereof better imagined than described. 
He had chewed tobacco for about a hundred years, and 
could not leave it off. Mr. Gray had grown quite in- 
firm, and could hardly hear us speaking. • His memory 
of course, had somewhat failed. So this may account 
for some discrepancies in this book. I will try to ex- 
plain them. In the main they are not such as to give 
the reader any trouble, satisfied as now his mind must be 



222 JOHN GRAY. 

of the general truth of my story. So here are the frag- 
mentary facts elicited by that last interview. Mr. Gray's 
father enlisted in 1777, and fell at White Plains. Mr. 
Gray belonged to the militia under Captain Sanford, anil 
they were called out in the fall, in October prior to the 
year the war closed. I now give his words : " I was a 
niiglity tough kind of a l>oy in them days I tell you. I 
savv' big, heavy men gi\e out, but I never lagged a foot 
beliind. We started from Fairfax C. 11. and went to 
Fredericksburg, and from there to Yorktown. When vv'e 
were near Williamsburg orders came to send out a scout- 
ing party to feel of the British ; we were then trying to 
como up to Williamsburg. We were too vreak to light 
them. ]]at our captain called for volunteers to go out 
on a scrimmage, and I volunteered with sixty others 
AV" liad gone only two or three miles ■when we came u})0'i 
the red-coats in large force. Just as we got near 
enough to fire, I could see day-break. 

" It was pretty hot for a little while, 1 tell you. They 
had cannon, we had none. Tliev fired grape-shot at us; 
but it was on ri-ing gi'ound, and tlicy fired over us. But 
we had to fall back, aiid so wc ihen marched to Rich- 
uiond. Iii the next year, Cornwallis surrendered. (Jar 
time was out the day we c;;me in sight of Yorktown. I 
went back to hard work, near Mount Vernon, when the 
war was over. My people were mighty poor, and there 
was a big i'amily of us. So, as I v/as the oldest of a large 
family, 1 had to go to work to support them. There was 
eight children of us. • I used to tako my dog, and go 
out and catch rabbits. It was about all we had to eat 
sometimes. I was married to Nancy Dowcll when I avos 
twenty years old. I first moved to Morgantown, Va. 



JUIIN GRAY. 223 

We had our tilings in a -wagon. I took a notion I would go 
down to Kentucky. So I built a boat, and put my family 
and horses aboard, and went down as far as Dilly's Bottom. 
Tlicre I stopped for nine years. From there, I went to 
Fish Creek, took a lease to clear some land, and staye 1 
tlierc seven years. I came up through these parts in 
tliem days. There was a salt-lick up on Duck Creek, and 
we used to come up and hunt of winters. I saw Indians, 
])lenty of them. I remember the year of Wayne's 
<l'.'fcat. I tell y^^ii, the settlement was badly skeered 
then. I may h.avo shot one or two red-skins — no matter. 

" I was married to my second wife at the Flats of Grave 
Creek. Her name was Mary Jiegan. I don't know 
Avhere my children is now ; I am afecrd they are all gone, 
exce[>t my step-daughter. I have my crutches and a 
pension to support me. I am very well satisfied. God 
bless Judge r)ingham foi- getting that pension lie got for 
me ! He was always kind to me. I always voted for 
iiim, because I have always known him to be a good man. 
I tell you, we have n't many more such men. lie is a 
soldier's friend. I savr vM that througli the war. He is 
always ready to do a good turn for a soldier. No wonder 
t!ie boys all like him." 

Mr. Gray narrated to me the following anecdote of 
General Washington. I believe it has never before been 
published, and, as it gives a new view of General Wash- 
ington's characteristic kindness, it is worth preserving: 

At this time (after Mr. Gray had returned from the 
Continental army) he lived near Mount Vernon. There 
was then a saw-mill — running by water po\yer, of course 
— on a stream called Dog Run. The General's negroes 
came there, with widp-saws in tlioir hands, one bright 



224. JOHN GRAY. 

IMay morning, and Avitli them also came John Gray, with 
a \vhip-saAV, too. Sawing was a slow business then. 
What could not he sawed witli the large saw, Mr. Gray 
and the slaves easily sawed with the whip-saws. As he 
was busily sawing, one day, and musing over his Revolu- 
tionary experience, who should ride up but General 
Washinn;ton himself. With characteristic kindness, the 
great man called to John Grny, for he knew him well. 
John dropped his saw, and, in a twinkling, was shaking 
hands with the General. The General inquired kindly 
for his health, and, telling him not to work too hard, bade 
him good-bye, and rode away. 

It did me good to hear the old gentleman tell it. I 
might fill a volume with similar anecdotes, for Mr. Gray 
never tired of speaking of General Washington. His 
want of property excluded him from voting, in A'^irginia, 
for his beloved Washington. And he often said, had it 
not been for that, he might have lived and died in Vir- 
ginia. But he was a Republican at heart, and could not 
Avell get over the insult thus leveled by aristocratic dis- 
tinctions against his proud manhood. Saving this, Jolin 
Gray was a true lover of Virginia. lie often mourned, 
and even wept, over Virginia's wayAvard course in tlie 
Rebellion — for John Gra^^ was loyal. But when the war 
was over, all his feelings against Virginia left him. lie 
remembered that Washington and he were born in Vir- 
ginia, had fought a common foe in Virginia, and had 
returned in triumph from a war that closed so grandl}^ in 
Virginia. NoVirGiinian need ever blush to acknowled^ie 
John Gray's fame. He Avas a true Virginian, proud of 
the Old Dominion — Avith all hov faults, loving her still. 
I asked him if he Avould lianiir Jeff Davis. 



JOHN GRAY. 225 

" Oh, no," said tlic old itian, " that •would do no good. 
The ^val• is over. It ^volll'l onlj raise bad feelings ag.ainst 
us. lie can't do us any harm. Let him live," I asked 
hini if he thought the South would come bacic all right. 
" Oh, yes, I guess so," responded the old soldier, " when 
she cools off a little. You knoAV those Southern folks 
are pretty hot-blooded ; but they'll come around all right 
by-and-by." I asked his opinion of Grant. "Well," 
said he, musingly, " he is a great general, but I can't see 
into him very Avell. But he will be our next President, 
though." This was June, 1867, one year before General 
Grant was first nominated. Mr. Gray was very fond of 
do£s. He said he had always owned a dog or two. 
" Though," said he, with a merry laugh, " I sometimes 
have had nothing else but a dog;" and, musing a mo- 
ment, he added : "A plug of tobacco, of coui'se, for 
without a dog or tobacco I should feel lost." xV little 
"white dog lay coiled up near his chair. " What is the 
name of your dog, Mr. Gray?" I inquired. "Nice," re- 
sponded he. " Is that not a nice name?" he naively m- 
fjuired, while his sides shook at the witticism. lie told 
me the biographies of several of his canine friends. I 
remember one only. When Mr. Gray's father first 
went into the army John Avas but thirteen years of age; 
but, being the eldest of eight children, tlie care cf the 
family devolved upon him. They had no meat. They 
had nothing but a little cornmeal — rather a spare larder, 
. mv fair reader of the nineteenth century's fullness ; so 
John went out and caught rabbits to feed the famil3^ His 
dog, " Lade," always was his companion upon these ex- 
peditions. What John's gun failed to bring down, Lade's 



22G JOHN GRAY. 

flying feet brought low. I am glad that Mr. Gray has left 
us a picture of Lade. She was a red female hound, with a 
white ring around her neck. He told me that he never 
cried harder than he did that day that he last saw Lade, 
except when he was leaving home to enter the Continental 
army He told me tliat she died old and full of years, 
and he laid her down gently to sleep in the deep recesses 
of the woods of ]\Iount Vernon. Thus closed the old 
man's story There he sat alone. He had outlived his 
generation. His white hair, still abundant, flowing down 
over his bent form, made him seem a patriarchal hero. 
We bade him eood-bv. 

LINES ADDRESSED TO JOHN GRAY. 

The frosts of five-score, 

And many years more, 
Have whitened your blessed old hair; 

Of glory a crown. 

By heaven sent down, 
Now, Father, you solemnly wear. 

O, this is a crown. 

By heaven sent down, 
More beautiful far than a king's; 

For angels in glory 

Have made it so hoary. 
And kissed all its silvery strings. 

Then wear the white crown 

By heaven sent down. 
For your feet shall soon press the bright shore; 

When yonder in glory 

Your hair no more hoary, 
Will wave in the skies evermore. 



JOHX GRAY. 227 



O, fair is the crown 
By heaven sent down, 

For righteous old fathers in age; 
A promised reward 
From hands of the Lord, 

Laid down in the Bible's sweet page. 



Chap. VI. — Closing Scenes and Remarks. 

The 29th day of March, 1868, closed the earthly ca- 
reer of the last known survivor of the War for Inde- 
pendence, at the ripe old age of nearly one hundred and 
five years. But in those years he had seen great changes. 
Independence was established, which was hut the begin- 
ning of the mightiest revolution in matters of govern- 
ment that the world had ever seen. The War of 1812 
had been successfully fought, settling forever certain 
great principles essential to our national prosperity. 
The Mexican War had made large additions to our ter- 
ritory, and greatly strengthened and improved matters 
on our southern boundary. The War of the Rebellion 
had been successfully finished, setting forever at rest the 
right of property in human bodies and souls; and be- 
tween the first and the last of the heroes of the first 
great struggle he had seen the mightiest development 
in churcli and state, science, literature, art, and inven- 
tion of any age in the world's history. Like old Simeon 
in the Temple, well might he exclaim : " Lord, now lettest 
thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen 
thy salvation." Surrounded by his old friends and neiirh- 
bors, among whom he had lived in peace and harmony 
for three-score or more years, he was laid to rest in the 
family burying-ground near his homely cabin. There he 



228 JOHN GRAY. 

rests in peace, a man wortliy of a monument whose top 
shall pierce the skies. A truly great, heroic man ; great 
in his simplicity and humility, heroic in the performance 
of simple known duty without expectation or hope of 
recognition or reward. The following letter from the 
postmaster at Hiramshurgh is here inserted as showing 
the interest taken by his friends and neighbors in the old 
veteran in his last days : 

HiRAMSBUP.a, KoBLE CouxTY, Ohio, Ajjvil 1, 1868. 
Mr. J. M. Dalzell. 

Dear Friend : — The last Revolutionary hero is gone. 
Those eves that saw the infant colonies engao;ed in 
deadlv conflict with the mother country are now closed. 
The tongue that helped to swell the notes of victory is 
now dumb The heart that for more than one hundred 
and four years kept the blood coursing through the veins 
has ceased to beat — John Gray is dead. Sunda^^, March 
29, A. D. 1808, at fifteen minutes before nine o'clock, 
the spirit took its flight. The mortal remains now re- 
pose in the family vault. I take the liberty of Avriting 
to you to inform you of his death, knowing that you 
have felt a great interest in the old hero. I am sorry 
to inform you, and I know that you will be sorry to 
hear, of the death of Dr. N. P. Cope. lie Avas burietl 
on the 12th of March last. These things speak for 
themselves. I Avill make no comments. We have had 
no mail to pass through here for the last ten days. You 
will see the difiiculties under which we are laboring, but 
I suppose we can not look for any change for the better 
for the next four years. Truly yours, 

P. BURLINGAME, P. M. 



JOHN GRAY. 220 

It was a fortunate circumstance, that, during mj visit 
to John Gray, in 18(37, I conceived the idea of securing 
his photograph, else no authentic picture of him couhl 
ever have been produced. I nianaged to have a photo- 
grapher on the ground, and thus, only a few months be- 
fore his demise, secured what must at some day become 
exceedingly valuable. The following letter explains the 
matter fully. 

CuMBEELAXD, Oil 10, April 8, 18G8. 
J. M. Dalzell. 

Bear Sir: — You have doubtless heard, ere this, of the 
death of John Gray. He died Sabbath eve, March 29th, 
aged 104 years, 2 months, and 23 days. I have his pho- 
tograph and autograph copyrighted. They will be ready 
for delivery soon. I want you to send me the precise 
date of the act of Congress making him a pensioner, as 
I wish to place a few items of the old man's history on 
the back of the pictures. How would you like to secure 
a picture of the Gray residence for your history ? Please 
reply by return mail. Yours truly, 

I. X. KXOWLTON. 

The following appeared, soon after his death, first in 
the Washington Chronicle, and afterward in many other 
periodicals : 

" THE LAST SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 

" To the Editor of the Chronicle : — I have just learned, 
through a private letter from Ohio, that John Gray, the 
last soldier of the Revolution, expired, at his residence 
in Noble county, Ohio, on the 29th of March. I knew 
the old man well, having lived for nearly twenty years 



230 JOHN GRAY. 

within sight of his house, and frequently met snd con- 
versed with him. There never lived a purer or better 
man. During the twenty years that I knew him, I never 
heard one word against his character. Greater praise 
than that is impossible. Every citizen of Noble county, 
Ohio, knew and loved the old man. John Gray was born 
at Mount Vernon, January G, 1704, and was consequently 
in his one hundred and fifth year when he died. He told 
me that he worked many a day on the Mt. Vernon estate 
for General Washington. At sixteen years of age, John 
Gray entered the Continental army, and served till the 
close of the Avar for our independence. He was at the 
surrender of Yorktown. Mr. Gray removed to Ohio be- 
fore it was a state, and remained there till his death. His 
history will be written, but I give these few facts as they 
come to ray mind to-day. Hon. Jolm A. Bingham, of Ohio, 
knew old John Grey Avell, and did much to help the old 
hero in his declining years. The last soldier of the Revo- 
lution was an earnest friend of Mr. Bingham's. Mr. 
Bingham found the old man in very destitute circumstances 
a few years ago, and determined to do all lie could for 
him. For some reason Mr. Gray never received any pen- 
sion, so Mr. Bingham gave the old man some money to 
relieve his most urgent necessities, and afterward pre- 
vailed upon Congress to grant him a pension of $500 
per annum. This act of generosity and patriotism to 
Washington's last soldier was remembered gratefully by 
old John Gray to the last hour of his life. The people 
of the Sixteenth District will never forget it. 

Yours, etc., Dalzell. 

"Washington, D. C, Ai^ril 4, 1868." 



JOHN (illAY. 231 

Enlogu on JoJui Gray. 
" Eulogies turn into clcgios." Indeed, llie eulogy and 
elegy come properly ;it one and the same time. The 
final judgment can not bo [>ronounced, either in this 
■world or the next, until the man is dead. " Well done, 
good and faithful servant," has already welcomed John 
Griiy to heaven. The welcome of the skies may -well 
find a welcome here. A life of virtue, in its fullest 
sense, Avas the the life of this grand old man. Listen. 
John Gray was a citizen of Ohio for three-score years 
and ten, and }*ou can not find in that state one man, 
woman, or child Avho can recall one evil word he ever 
said, or one bad act he ever did. Nay, more. Not one 
man, woman, or child in Ohio has ever so much as said 
that such a rumor ever was heard. This would be great 
praise. But we can go further. Until sti-icken by the 
infirmities of age, he labored hard with his hands, and 
led a life of noble usefulness, prayer, and virtue. Be- 
cause he was inoflcnsive, it does not follow that he 
lacked mental capacity. By no means. But he sought 
to do good and be good, and he accomplished it. What 
an example to hold out to the rising generation. This 
man was a patriot — he fought for your liberty. This 
man v/as a Christian during a long, long life. lie never 
injured his neighbors in thought, word, or deed. Was 
he not worthy to be AVasliington's last soldier? He wns 
not as great, but he was as good, as AYashington. And 
are there not purposes of God plainly seen in his life? 
Did God prolong John Gray's life until John Gray alone 
remained of all the Revolutionists, and this without n 
purpose ? Verily, no. God had a purpose in it. Might 



282 JOHN CRAY. 

it not be that, hj his pure life, he might forever stand as 
an example to coming generations? And has not labor 
her heroes '( There are heroes avIio marshal armies and 
rule nations; are there not heroes, too, in humble life ? 
To be good as John Gray Avas, and do his whole duty to 
his God and fellow man, is such heroism as stands high 
above that of Napoleon. Therefore, I honor John Gray. 
Therefore, I gather up what I can of his life and write it 
here, that coinin;]:; c;enerations mav ivc and admire the 
pure and unpretending virtues of Washington's last 
soldier. 

Following is a copy of John Gray's Avill, extracted 
from the records in the office of the pi'obate judge of 
Noble county, Ohio. It is not less remarkable for its 
simplicity and brevity than for the noble spirit of grati- 
tude which pervades it. 

Copi/ of Jolin Gray's Will. 

In the name of the benevolent Father of all, I, John 
Gray, of the county of Noble, and State of Ohio, being 
now in the 104th year of my age, of sound mind and 
memory, though my limbs are feeble, and I am the last 
survivor of the Revolutionary War. 

Item 1. I give and devise to my only daughter, Nancy 
McElroy, and heirs, forever, all moneys, goods, chattels, 
and effects, of whatsoever kind or nature, that may be in 
my possession at the time of my decease, only asking 
that she, the beloved Nancy, will still continue to take 
care of me while I live, as she has done heretofore. 
And the above devise is made to compensate, so far as I 
am able, the said Nancy McElroy for the care, kindness, 
and attention that I have always received at her hands. 



JOHN GRAY. 233 

Item 2. I do hereby revoke all former Vv'ills by mo 
made. In testimony whereof, I hereunto set my hand 
and seal, this 1-lth day of Februai-y, 1867. 

John Gray, [seal.] 

Signed and acknowledged by said John Gro.y, as his 
last will and testament, in our presence, and signed by 
us in his presence. Philip Burlinuame, 

John W. Scott. 

Here we close the history proper of John Gray, the 
patriot, friend, and compaiiion of Washington. The de- 
tails of his life, as the reader has already seen, are 
mea2;er, and vet enough is known to secure him the 
lasting friendship of angels, patriots, and men. lie was 
a Christian, having perhaps a longer church record than 
even a few attained — eighty years. lie was a patriot, 
daring, not for himself, but for posterity. He was a 
man, than whom there are few more manly. He was tlie 
last of a noble and grand generation. Those who read 
this brief history in other states will j)ardon me for say- 
ing that I am proud to say that the old hero sleeps in 
my own State of Ohio, near the spot where I now write. 

Herald it to the world that the last soldier of the Rev- 
olution died in Ohio. Rear a marble column, to tell 
coming generations tliat John Gray, Washington's last 
soldier, sleeps in Ohio. Men of the Sixteenth District of 
Ohio — aye, of the whole great Con^monwealth of Ohio — 
bestir yourselves, to honor Washington's last soldier. 
Strike some plan, by various and early subscription, to 
raise a marble column to his memory. Washington's last 
soldier died in Ohio. Governor Cox wrote me that he 



234 JOHN GRAY. 

synipalhizcd deeply "wltl! a scheme to rear a monument 
to John Gvay\s memory. All good citizois of Ohio uill 
contribute to it. Set me uowu {'or a dollar. Are there 
not ten thousand other dollars? 

Let a column rise to heaven, 

Till sky and marble meet, 
And sunlight of the morning 

All its pallid beauty greet." 

Consequently, upon the revival of interest in the old 
patriot's history during this Centennial year of Ohio, the 
idea recurred to me to revive my original appeal of 
twentv vears iigo to Congress and the people, to take 
some action looking toward the erection of a monument 
of our v(nierable hero, and, to tell the truth, to j)rocare by 
any lionorn.ble method the means necessary to })usli and 
complelc tlie euterpi'ise in hand. In pursuiuice of this 
end, early in March I addressed letters to our Congress- 
man. Colonel J. D. Taylor, asking hira to urge C(uigress to 
take suitable steps to secure the erection of a monument, 
and, at the sauic time, I v.'rote the Secretar}^ of War 
concerning the matter, ns above stated. Colonel Taylor 
at once introduced the bill, at my suggestion, and I have 
received the following letters in reply : 

War Department, 
Washington City, 3 f arch 27, 1888. 
i<^Ij- : — X have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of 
your letter of the Stli instant, requesting that the Gov- 
ernment pay you |1,000 for time, labor, and money ex- 
pended by you in preparing a sketch, with portrait, of 
the life of John Oray, the last soldier of the Revolu- 
tionary War, who died in 18G8. In reply, I beg to inform 



JOHN GRAY. 235 

YOU that your letter has l)een referred to the Depnvtment 
of State, "where the records of the Revolutionaiy War 
are on file. 

Very respectfully your obedient servant, 

S. V. Bexet, 
Brigadier- General, (IJiicf of Ordnance^ and 
Aniua Secretary of War. 
Mr. James Isl. Dalzell, Caldwell, 0. 

Department of State, 
Washington, Blareh 22, 1888. 
James M. Dalzell, Esq., Caldwell, Ohio. 

Sir: — Your letter of the Htli inst., addressed to the 
President and Secretary of War, has been referred to 
this department. In reply as to the propositions stated 
therein as to the material compiled by you for a memoir 
of John (jray, ;i soldier in the army of the United States 
during the \Var of the Revolution, v>'hich you wish to sell 
to tlie government, 1 have to inform you that Congi-ess 
has made no ])rovision to enable this department to ac- 
quire your collection. You also state that' you have 
brought this subject to the attention of certain members 
of Congress v/ho will, I assume, duly consider it, and 
take such action upon it as may seem to them to be 
proper. 1 am, sir, 

Your obedient servant, 

G. Rivers, 
Ahs 1st ant Secretary. 

Washington, D. C, Mareli 26, 1888. 
Hon. J. M. Dalzell, Caldwell, O. 

Dear Sir : — I will introduce the Gray bill in a few dnys. 
I have it ready. I would have got it i') to-day, but I had 



236 JOHN GRAY. 

some very important matters to look after at tlie Post- 
office Department, and was detained on the way, and I 
found, wiicn 1 got to the House, that thev had omitted 
the reading of the minutes, and called the States for bills, 
before I got there. I will likeh" get it in to-day by unani- 
mous consent, and I will push it as fast as possible. I 
wish you would write some of the members about it, and 
get them to take an interest in it. I think it would be a 
splendid thing to L e the old man's grave marked by a 
suitable monument. Thousands of people would go 
every year to see it. I am sorry we did not think of this 
at the opening of the session, so as to get the bill earlier 
before the committee. It is so hard to get a bill out of 
a committee, but I think this will be an exception. 

Yours trulv. 

*' ' J. I). Taylor. 

Mr. Joseph D. Taylor, of Ohio, introduced the follow- 
ing bill in the House of Representatives, April 2, 1888: 

A BILL to i^rovide for the erection of a monument to John 
Oray, the last survivor of the Revolutionary \Var. 

Whereas, John Gray, whe was born at Fairfax, Virginia, in 
the year seventeen hundred and sixty-four, and died in Noble 
county, (Jliio, in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-eight, at 
tiie unnsual nge of one hundred and four years, was tlie last liv- 
ing sohlier of the Revolution; and, 

Whereas, Tlie said John Gray was pensioned as the last sur- 
viving soldier of the Revolution by the Thirty-ninth Congress, at 
the rate of five hundred dollars per annum ; and, 

Whereas, This aged veteran died the year after his jiension 
was granted, very poor, and left no means with which to m<ark; 
his grave: 'i'herefore, 

Be it enacted h;/ the Senate and House of Represeyiiatce^ ot' the United 
States of Americ'i. in Conaress assembled, That the sum of two thou. 



THE EEVOLUTIOXARY TRIO, 237 

sand dollars bo, and is herebj- , appropriated out of any moneys 
in the treasury nut otherwise appropriated, for tlie purpose of 
erecting a monument to the memory of Private John Gray, the 
last survivor of the Revolution, whose remains now rest in an 
unmaikcd grave in Noble county, Ohio. 

Si:c. 2. That the secretary of state shall have the manage- 
ment and control of the erection of said monument and the se- 
lection of the spot where it shall be placed, and all other mat- 
ters in relation thereto. 



THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIO. 

\VASHIXGTON. 
FiR.«T IN" War. 
Foremo.'^t am.ong the mighty names that make 
The times of Revolution brilliant yet, 
Chief of all that patriot host that won 
For us our fi-eedv)in and our glorious flag — 
" First in war" — the brightest spirit of them all, 
Behold the Chieftain Washington ; 
A man not molded in a lordly hall. 
Nor reared in splendor near a kingly throne, 
Nor taught to jabber in a classic shade, 
Kor trained for war by printed rules; 
But in the wilderness of this fair land 
Born and nut lured in the plainest scenes 
That plain and rugged nature can produce, 
To manly indeijendence every thought attained, 
And every act conformed to nature's plan, 
And all the men controlled by love of right. 
His great heart full of love to God and man, 
He grew up strong in body, strong in mind; 
In purpose strong and armed with right, 
God and the people holding up his hands, 
And guidi)ig and supporting him through all, 
He took ih.e Army, and Victory loved 
To leave the tyrant and come to him. 



238 THE KCVOIATIO-NAIIY TRIO. 

FlIlST IX Pl^ACE. 

And, when the war chuids roiled away, 

And idl the ivation'ri slcy was briglit \vith peace, 

He, the " First in war," tiie conquering chief, 

The hrave, resistless general, became 

Again tlie first, the " First in peace," 

And at the Nation's hcim ngain, 

Saul-like, with head and slioulders over all, 

The grandest President he stood ; 

And words of wisdom from the cherished chief 

Still guided our young Nation's early plans, 

And every danger he foresaw, and tui'ned 

The Ship of State around ere she ha<l touched 

The rocks of discord lying near. 

His farewell to the people, whom he loved, 

His farewell words still linger yet, and oft. 

With tender memories rushing through the mind. 

Do millions read those farewell words; 

Words of counsel caught fi'om heaven, 

Words of hope, and words of cheer. 

The last words of the great immortal chief, 

While Americans still love the hind he loved, 

And still revere the Hag to him so <]e.ir. 

Will his words linger in the peoples' hearts, 

And guide the peoples' hands, and keep 

Still sacred and secure the liberties 

Wrung for us from tyrant's hands 

And first made safe by Washington ? 

FlKST IX TIIE IlrAIITS OP IIlS CoUNTRYMEN. 

Millions have lived and died since ilie tomb 

Closed first upon the corpse of Washington. 

The corpse in marble wastes, and dries to common dust, 

And ashes nov/ are all W(^ have of Washington. 

Though he is dead and gone to the dust, 

His spirit lives and breatlies in all our laws. 

And is the talismanic word that makes these states 

In harmony and Union ever one. 



THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIO. 239 

The Declaration, Constitution, Laws, 
The Union, Flag, and Nation's Arms, 
Are bound in voUimes with a golden thread 
That reaches through the peoples' hearts. 
Is fastened through the throne of God, and runs 
All through the fame of Washington. 
Let marble blush if it would tell 
How dear is Washington to every heart ; 
riis memory is not encased in solid stone, 
Nor pent up in your marble monuments- 
It lives in living men, and every tide 
Of warm life-blood in every heart 
Still murmurs sweetly as it courses on, 
And all its crimson streams are vocal 
With the praise of Washington. 

Gh'ANT. 

0, come 
Ye lofty spirits from the fields of song, 
In all your singing robes and flowing train, 
And voices chanting out melodious verse. 
And us inspire with fitting thought and words 
Aglow with some of that seraphic fire 
Which made such glowing harmony on the lips 
Of Otis, Henry, Adams, Jefferson, 
When they with fervent praise of Washington, 
With kindling eloquence in Freedom's name. 
Proclaimed the leader of their glorious cause. 
And there is one, another Washington, 
Whose fame with his the hand of fate has joined; 
And, while the name of Washington is named 
By patriots' tongues, another mighty name 
Shall ring with grandeur through our fair domain, 
And Freedom's sons can ne'er foiget the chief 
Who saved the flag from rebel bands, and now 
Is still defending with a heroic might 
The flag of Washington, of you and me. 
Need I repeat in blind and staggering verse 
21 



240 THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIO. 

And accents rude and illy tuned, 

The Chiel tain's name which echoes now 

In verse and prose throughout the land? 

Need my imperfect muse repeat his name 

Who flung our banner to the breeze of war, 

And by it stood through all the fiery storm. 

Thundering with might of Jove at treason's gates 

Far down the Mississippi's blofxly stream ; 

Or, turning to the East, when A'icksburg fell, 

To drive the traitor from his last foul den, 

And wrest the bloody sword from traitors' hands. 

And Appomattox, and so close the war? 

Ah, no; that name is written on the nation's heart; 

That name is sacred to the army yet;' 

And freedom stands with victory now. 

And, smiling, both are crowning him with fame, 

And all the comrades dear repeat Grant's name. 

JOHN GRAY. 

And now another name, a third, 
k private soldier of heroic mold. 

Shall close the burden of my lay, 

And laurels deck the brow of Private Gray. 



For there are those unknown to song or story. 

Whose deeds, though brave and groat, are never told 

To individual praise — the humble ones 

Who fill their spheres with patriotic glow 

Of soul known but by heroes moved by zeal 

For country's good — without ambition for a 

Higher place, yet face the cannon's mouth. 

And yield their lives a cheerful gift 

To save her from her deadly foes. 

All hail the private soldier — highest type 

Of love, disinterested and pure — 

Who lives not for himself, nor seeks renown, 

But only for the sake of those he loves, 



THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIO. 241 

Pours out his blood a willing offering. 

Such were the men of '76 and '01, 

Who, brave and strong, on many a bloody field, 

Bared their bosoms to the fatal shaft, 

And in the stern crisis of the Nation's life. 

Withstood the shock, and marched to victory. 

At midnight, or at morn's gray drawn. 
They answered to the long roll's fearful call. 
Thus, when the call of duty, stern and cold, 
Was heard, each answered name was known. 
But in the hour of victory and triumph, 
The individual name, amidst the throng 
Of souls heroic who have braved the storm, 
Is lost, where all were true and brave alike. 

Yet one there is whose name shall long survive. 

Who, when the story of the cause he served, 

And of the chieftain by whose side he stood 

Is named, shall, too, be named as one of those 

Who, in the hour of her darkest night. 

Their country saved from death and made her free. 

Who, though not greater nor e'en yet more brave 

Than thousands, comrades on the tented field, 

Laid down his arms only at call of peace 

When Yorktown's fall declared the struggle o'er; 

Who, though no longer needed for defense, 

Yet lived to see his country, grand and great, 

Tiie foremost of the nations of the earth. 

Saw one by one his comrades pass away. 

His wife and children, age, and fall on sleep; 

Yet living on he saw a second war, 

A third, and yet a fourth, each adding more 

Of glory and of strength — a nation tried 

By fire, and for her giant sins 

Scourged, and baptized in a sea of blood. 

lie lived to see her from her trials come 

Bright as the sun, and clear as is the moon. 



242 THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIO. 

With strength, with majesty and beauty clothed. 
All this he saw through five score years and five. 
Thus, having shared the triumphs of an age, 
The greatest age of all the world's great life, 
The last of all that noble band of men — 
The sires of '7G — his head adorned 
With hoary locks, his eye grown dim. 
And marlcs of superadded years upon his form, 
Yet brave of soul and strong of mind and heart, 
Sustained by grace, and cheered by Christian hoi^e, 
He, too, passed over to the great beyond. 

Who shall be left from out the last great strife, 
To linger longest in this earthly way? 
Who shall behold the wonders yet to be 
Within the century that is dawning now ? 
Whose name shall be enrolled as last of those 
Who saved our country from her rebel foe? 
Mayst thou dear reader in that future day 
Bear fitting news of country's weal or woe 
To that assemblage where on equal ground 
Are Washington, and Grant, and Private Gray. 



THE END. 




.lOlIX (;IL\Y'S NECLKCTKi) GRAVE, 1888. 

I'HK \ATIOXS SIIAMK. 

[Photogriipliod by >r. \V. Horn, Caldwell. O.] 



NOTICE TO THE PUBLIC. 

If prospered from this time on as I have been so far in 
the present edition of this book, other editions double the 
present size will appear, with added features of interest, at a 
uniform price of two dollars per volume. I find there is 
nothing in this for my children at one dollar. And, while in 
the announcement business, I will also say that I contemplate 
placing before the public one of the most unique, novel, and 
valuable works ever published. I have been preparing it for 
thirty years ; and, while I did not expect that it should be 
issued in my lifetime, I now have a curiosity to hear what 
Mrs. Grundy may have to say about it, namely, my^ new 
book, entitled, " The American Statesman's Letter Book." 
It will embrace all the letters I have ever received from 
statesmen, scholars, orators, poets, soldiers, and citizens of dis- 
tinction, living aud dead, whose fame is world-wide. The let- 
ters will be lithographed lac-similes of letters addressed to me 
by Lincoln, Grant, Hayes, Garfield and Arthur, the Sher- 
mans, Sheridan, Kilpatrick, Hawley, Banks, Sumner, Greeley, 
Reid, Bowles, Halstead, Higgiuson, Holmes, Longfellow, 
Whittier, Saxe, Bryant, Howard, Blaine, Hancock, Medill, 
Hendricks, Thurman, Cox, Noyes, Foraker, Foster, Cameron, 
Chandler, Butler, Rusk, Fairchild, Devens, Emerson. Tnger- 
soll, Harrison, Storrs, Story, and a host of other renowned 
Americans known and honored throughout the world; not 
autographs, but entire letters, at various times, on various 
topics of permanent historic interest, gathered not as auto- 
graphs, but in the course of a long and intimate frieudshij) 
with them. Its uniform price will be about five dollars. A 
large royal octavo volume. Subscriptions solicited. Address 

Private Dalzell, Caldwell, 0. 
(Wiil'.out the money.) 



U. S. MILITARY CLAIM AGENCY. 



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knew.—/. M. Dalzell (Caldwell, Ohio). 

Among hundreds of favorable notices from the press, and else- 
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CALDWELL, OHIO, 



JAMES M. DALZELL, 

niACTICE.S l.V 

STATE, UNITED STATES, DISTRICT, AND CIRCUIT COURTS, 

So/icits Co}-rcspoiidi'ncc iviili La^oycrs and Ihisiiiess Men 

Obtains Pensions, etc. Ff.f.s Moderate. Twenty years experience. 
References in my book. 



PRIVATE DALZELL: 

His Autobiography, Poem?, and Comic War Papers; 8ketch 
of John Gray, Washington's Last Sohlier, etc. Part I. 
My Autobiography. Part 11. My War Sketches, etc. 
Part III. John Gray. A Centennial Souvenir. 

l2mo. In i^andsome Cloth Binding. Price, $1.00. 

The Springfield, Mass. Repnblicnii, of Uay 17, 1888, published Mr. Dalzell's 
poem, John Gray, with many graceful words of praise of it and of the book. 

"Private" Dalzull. of O.iio, arriveil in the eity last night from Spring- 
field, 111., where he was a looker-on at the Republican convention. He will 
deliver two leeturi's at the Cyelorama Salnrday niglit and Sunday morning 
on the subject of "Tlie I'eu and Press" and "Boys in 131ue." — Kansas Citt/ 
Times. 

Private Dalzell, of national fame, \v\\\ give his rousing lecture, entitled 
" Boys in Blue," to-nig!it. — Eceniiuj Tribune, Lawrence, Kan. 

Private Dalzell, of Ohio, will reach here tliis morning to attend the con- 
vention. — Daili/ lllinoi!' Stale Journal. 

"John Gray, Washington's Last Soldier," a poem, by Private Dalzell, 
read at the Marietta Centennial, April o, 1888, by the author, is beautiful. It 
will be found in Private Dalzell's forthcoming book, and comrades will have 
to buy that. We 're not going to help any one to the excuse that he's read it 
already. — Grand Army Review. 

We are glad to see tliat Hon. Josepli D. Taylor, congressman from Ohio, 
has introduced a bill appropriating 5!2,000 for tlie erection of a monument in 
memory of the late John Gray, who died in Noble County, Ohio, in 1868, at 
the unusual age of 101 years. Gray was the last survivor of the gallant 
soldiers of the Revolution, who fought under tlie illustrious Washington to 
achieve the nation's liberty and independence. His remains now lie in an 
unmarked grave in Noble County, Oiiio. Gray was born at Fairfax, Virginia, 
was pensioned at .fSOO a year as the last surviving soldier of the Revolution, 
by the 39th Congress, but died tlie year after his pension was granted, very 
l)O0r, and left no means with which to mark his grave. A grateful American 
I)eople, through its representatives, expect and demand the immediate pas- 
sage of this bill. This measure is as goo(i as it is patriotic. The memory of 
the men who hazarded their lives to establisli their country's existence and 
to maintain its integrity on the basis of unioii and liberty should be made 
immortal and never forgotten. — Allegan {Mich.) Journal and Tribune. 

Ohio's distinguished Union soldier. Private Dalzell, is soon to issue a 
book, entitled John Gray, Washington's Last Soldier, and Private Autobiog- 
raphy, with Funny War Letters and Poems, Sketches, etc., a volume of about 
200 pages, illustrated. Dalzell is as dashing a writer as he is a soldier. Sub- 
scribe for this entertaining work. — Allegan [Mich.) Journal and Tribune. 

Jg^"" Remittances may be made by postal note, money order, bank draft, or 
currency by registered letter. (Postage stamps not received.) 

Sent to any address by mail on receipt of the price with postage, SI. 10. 

Address MKS. H. M. UALZELL, Caldwell, Ohio. 



